I don’t know if you will ever read this, but I need to say it somewhere that doesn’t get swallowed by the moment. I need to say it without you brushing it away or pretending you didn’t hear the parts that matter. This is for you, the person I wrote that poem about, the person who still has pieces of me even when he swears we are “just friends.”
The truth is that my feelings for you have always made me soft in ways I didn’t expect. I wanted to be good to you. I wanted to show up for you. I wanted to make your life lighter. My love for you, even the quiet parts, made me want to do anything for you. And you knew it. You knew exactly what you meant to me. You knew the effect you had. You knew the way I looked at you. You knew the way my heart jumped when you smiled at me.
You knew.
And you used it.
Every time you pulled me close and kissed me, even after telling me that we are only friends, you cracked something in me. You made the line blurry on purpose. You made me feel chosen for a moment and dismissed the next. You gave me sparks you never intended to keep alive. You let me feel wanted only when it was convenient for you. And then you waved it away like it was nothing, like my heart was nothing, like the whole thing was a misunderstanding I created in my own mind.
You told me I am one of your best friends, and maybe that was supposed to comfort me, but it didn’t. It hurt. Because friends do not take advantage of kindness. Friends do not use someone’s feelings as a momentary escape from their own loneliness. Friends do not kiss someone they know has loved them and then act like it never happened. Friends do not consume affection they have no intention of returning.
I need you to understand that your actions made me feel unseen. Used. Small. Like my heart was an easy place for you to land when you were bored, but never a place you actually intended to stay. You made me question myself in ways I didn’t deserve. You made me feel like my softness was a weakness instead of something worth protecting.
The worst part is that I kept letting it happen because a part of me hoped the affection you showed me was real. I hoped the moment would mean something. I hoped maybe this time you would choose me. I hoped I wasn’t imagining the way you held me. I hoped I wasn’t imagining the way you looked at me. I hoped I wasn’t imagining how right it felt for those few seconds.
But I was only ever holding a version of you that didn’t exist.
I am finally admitting that to myself.
So this letter is not just about the hurt. It is also about the truth I’m choosing now. I do not want crumbs. I do not want confusion. I do not want to feel lucky when someone who knows my heart decides to use it for comfort. I want to be chosen. I want to be seen. I want to be loved in a way that does not ask me to shrink or settle. I want a love that stays, not a kiss that evaporates as soon as you decide to pretend it never happened.
You taught me something, even if that wasn’t your intention.
You taught me that my heart is still open even after everything it has survived.
And that means it deserves someone who won’t play with it.
I am not writing this to blame you. I am writing it because I need to reclaim the parts of myself I kept bending for you. I need to step back from whatever this was, because it has been breaking me slowly. I need to choose myself in a way you never chose me. Maybe one day you will understand how much your actions affected me. Maybe you won’t. But I am done hoping that you will suddenly treat me with the tenderness I kept giving you.
This is me stepping away from the confusion.
This is me choosing peace.
This is me remembering that my softness is not a weakness.
This is me letting go of what hurts.