space between

sometimes you don’t end up with the person you loved. not because something broke. because life kept moving and you didn’t move at the same speed.

it starts quietly. calls get shorter. silence stops feeling comfortable. understanding turns into explanations. explanations turn into arguments. nothing dramatic happens. nothing ends in one sentence. it just becomes heavier to carry.

love doesn’t always leave. sometimes it stays, but changes its job. it stops being something you live inside and becomes something you remember correctly. without edits. without hope of continuation.

there was a time when effort felt natural. when staying awake felt easy. when being patient didn’t feel like work. that version of love was real. it just belonged to a different version of you.

people change shape. expectations grow teeth. what once felt deep starts feeling tight. not wrong. just no longer fitting.

letting go isn’t loud. there’s no final conversation that solves it. it happens slowly, through acceptance. through choosing peace over familiarity. through admitting that care alone isn’t enough anymore.

love doesn’t disappear. it settles. it becomes a place you don’t visit often, but still know how to reach.

some things are meant to exist fully, then stop. not everything real is meant to last. some things are complete precisely because they ended.