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In Relationships 3 min read
The Finished Man 2 - The Beginning of the End
<p>He’s texting now.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not at 5:59 a.m. anymore — but at odd hours when the ache sharpens. When memories turn to thoughts, and thoughts to shaky drafts he reads twice before hitting send.</p><p><br/></p><p>“Hey, just checking on you.”</p><p>“Hope your day’s going well.”</p><p>“Let me know if you’d like to talk.”</p><p><br/></p><p>Delivered. Not read.</p><p><br/></p><p>Once, he’d known the rhythm of her replies. Now, even silence has a tone — and this one says distance.</p><p><br/></p><p>She doesn’t block him. Doesn’t tell him to stop. Instead, she says, “I have so many things going on.”</p><p>“Sorry, I’ve been overwhelmed.”</p><p>“Too many unread messages.”</p><p><br/></p><p>He’s read enough between the lines to know: if someone really wanted to talk to you, you wouldn’t be part of the unread.</p><p><br/></p><p>She hasn’t said it outright — that she’s done.</p><p>But she doesn’t need to.</p><p>Her delay says it. Her silence says it. Her calm detachment says it louder than words ever could.</p><p><br/></p><p>But deep down, he knew — people always have something going on. But when you matter, they make room. They show up. Even in chaos. Especially in chaos.</p><p><br/></p><p>He’s seen her show up for others. Seen her send lengthy voice notes to friends when she herself was barely holding it together.</p><p><br/></p><p>So what does that make him now?</p><p><br/></p><p>A ghost with a phone number.</p><p><br/></p><p>Still, he fights — not with long calls. But with presence.</p><p>With consistency.</p><p>With those small messages that hope to catch her heart off guard.</p><p><br/></p><p>But it’s not working.</p><p><br/></p><p>And he’s beginning to understand something painful:</p><p>When someone no longer wants the feeling, they start creating space.</p><p>And to really be free of someone, they need boundaries.</p><p><br/></p><p>He’s seen it before — affection doesn’t die in a moment. It fades like perfume, needing distance and time. And right now, she’s curating both. Gently. Quietly. Finally.</p><p><br/></p><p>So he stops mid-text one night.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not because he doesn’t care.</p><p>But because maybe he’s the only one who still does.</p><p><br/></p><p>And maybe the most respectful thing love can do — when it’s no longer returned — is to bow out. Gracefully.</p><p><br/></p><p>So he types one last message:</p><p>“I won’t keep reaching out. Not because I don’t care. But because I finally understand. Thank you… for everything.”</p><p><br/></p><p>Then, he deletes it.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not because he changed his mind.</p><p>But because he’s tired of trying to be unforgettable to someone who’s already forgetting.</p><p><br/></p><p>It hurts.</p><p>But it’s honest.</p><p>And sometimes, that’s the only closure you get.</p>

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