I spent years trying to be enough for people who never really looked at me, only at what I gave, what I swallowed, what I endured quietly.

I learned how to disappear without leaving, how to stay loyal while breaking inside, how to smile through the kind of hurt that doesn’t bruise the skin, but rots somewhere behind the ribs.

I told myself if I stayed soft, If I stayed patient, If I loved harder, things would change. I mistook neglect for love and called survival commitment.

I stayed long after my voice went missing, Long after my needs felt like apologies, long after I became smaller just to keep the peace.

Eventually, I let go. Not because I felt strong, but because I was tired of waking up heavy every day.

Some people don’t leave because they stop loving. They leave because loving started costing them themselves.