I tried, maybe not the right way, maybe not enough but I did. And I know that what I did hurt you more than I ever wanted to admit. That guilt… it hasn’t left me. It’s still here, every single day, sitting heavy inside my chest.

I kept holding on to you, even when I knew I was the reason you were breaking. I see it clearly now. I was selfish. I wanted you to stay, even when staying meant hurting you. And for that, I hate myself more than I can explain.

I know you wanted it to end long before it did. But I couldn’t let go. I kept hoping, kept holding on to something that was already falling apart. I tried… but I failed.

Every day, I tell myself I shouldn’t reach out, shouldn’t disturb your peace. But every day without you feels unbearable. It hurts in ways I can’t even put into words, not having you, not hearing you, not sharing anything with you anymore.

When I finally said I was done, it wasn’t because I stopped caring. It was because I cared too much. The guilt was consuming me, and letting you go felt like the only way to stop hurting you… even if it meant destroying myself in the process.

Maybe all I ever had was a one-sided love. And I’ve come to accept that I can’t expect more than that. But you were always the one who listened, the one who understood. Now, I carry everything alone and it’s breaking me. It’s driving me to a place I don’t recognize anymore.

I’m sorry… for loving you too much, for holding on too tightly, for hurting you in ways I can never undo.

I’ve reached a point where I don’t even know how to face myself anymore. This is the lowest I’ve ever been.

And if one day I go silent… if you don’t hear from me again, just know this

I never stopped wanting you.

Not even for a second.

I’m trying… I really am.

But the guilt is slowly eating me alive.