For Leah — the real last chapter.

Leah. We didn't stop loving each other, Leah.That's what kills me.We loved each other and we still broke. You were bleeding from old hurts, Leah,hurts I didn't cause but I didn't know how to hold either.So we turned that bleeding on each other.Constant fights. Shitty nights. Saying things we didn't meanjust to feel something other than helpless. And I left, Leah.I left first.I walked out on us like a coward who thought distance would fix it. And you came back.God, Leah, you came back.After I left, you still came back.You chose me again when you had every reason not to. And what did I do, Leah? I forgot Valentine's.I forgot our anniversary, Leah.Our anniversary.I let the day that marked us pass like it was any other day. You looked at me like something in you broke, Leah,and I told myself you were just distant,that you didn't want to talk.But it was me. My shitty, stupid memory. And then — Leah — your birthday.Your birthday, Leah.The day God made you.The day the love of my life was born,and I forgot it. How do you look at a woman you love with everything in youon the day the world got her,and have nothing to give her because you forgot? How, Leah? How? Now you say you're not ready for anything again.You didn't say it's over.You didn't have to, Leah.You just stopped. You stopped replying fast.You stopped writing paragraphs.Now it's "lol" and "okay" and days where neither of us reaches outbecause we're both too scared to be the one who finally says"so this is it." I know it's over, Leah.I feel it in my bones.You're just too good, too beautiful, too kind to say it out loud.So you let it starve slowly. But Leah, I don't want it to end.Don't you get it?Moving on means I have to close the book.And if I close it, Leah, it means I have to live with this: That I had you.That I had Leah.That I had a girl who loved me after I left her,and I lost her because I couldn't remember to love her on the days it counted. I still love you, Leah.I love you so much it feels like my chest is going to split open in public.I love you in the morning when I wake up and forget for a second that you don't talk to me anymore.I love you at night when my phone is dark and I know it's dark because you decided not to light it up. I will always love you, Leah.Even if you never love me again.Even if you find a man who remembers every date, every anniversary, every birthday,who never makes you feel like you are easy to forget.Even if you forget me, Leah. I still love you. So if this is how we end, Leah —not with screaming, not with hate,but with slow convos and scanty texts and days of nothing — Let me say it one last time, properly: I'm sorry, Leah.I'm sorry for leaving the first time.I'm sorry for fucking up the second chance you were brave enough to give.I'm sorry for Valentine's. For our anniversary. For your birthday.I'm sorry that you were holding past hurts and I just became your newest one. I don't want to move on, Leah.Because moving on means our chapter ends.And I would rather live forever in this ache,yearning for you,than live one day in a world where us never happened.

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