One part of me is dying…

the part that kept choosing you over myself.

The part that believed if I loved harder,

you would show up differently.

The part that stayed…

long after I felt the absence.

⸻

But the other part of me—

the part that still whispers in quiet moments—

is dying to be free.

Free to dream again.

Free to show up for myself.

Free to become… without shrinking.

⸻

I thought love meant staying.

For better or worse.

But no one tells you—

when the “worse” outweighs the “better,”

staying can become self-abandonment.

⸻

I sacrificed.

I gave.

I showed up… every time.

But somewhere along the way,

I stopped showing up for me.

⸻

And now I understand—

freedom isn’t leaving you…

It’s returning to myself.