THEN BE WITH YOUR DOG, SHE SAID

A Reply to “Baby, Just Hold Me” You know what? Come here. No, not physically. Just sit down. Let's talk. Because I read your piece. Twice. The first time, I smiled. The second time, I became quiet. Not because I didn't understand you. Because I understood you too well. You said, “Baby, just hold me.” And somehow, I could hear the part you didn't write. “Baby, just choose me.” And perhaps that was the real problem. You weren't asking for my arms. You were asking for my certainty. You wanted to know that when I walked into a room filled with people, I would still look for you. That when I talked about companionship, I wouldn't make you feel like you were competing with a dog. Yes. The dog. You really brought the dog into this. 😂 I don't even know what to say. Because how do I defend myself against a creature that has never cancelled a date? A creature that doesn't argue. Doesn't overthink. Doesn't ask, “Where is this relationship going?” A creature that hears “come here” and actually comes. Maybe you were right. Maybe the dog really is better company. At least the dog doesn't write a TwoCents piece about me. But then I kept reading. And suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore. You said I was there during your holidays. Your celebrations. Your sad days. But somehow... not with you. That line stayed with me. Because there is a particular kind of loneliness that happens when the person you love is physically present but emotionally absent. You can hold someone's hand and still feel single. You can sleep beside someone and still feel homeless. You can have midnight calls, movie nights, lunches, dates, chess games... and still wonder, “Do I actually have you?” And maybe that was what you were trying to tell me. Not that I wasn't around. But that I wasn't there. There is a difference. A painful one. You said I compared you with my friends. My former lover. My dog. And honestly? Maybe I did. Maybe I kept looking at you through the shadows of people who came before you. Maybe I was trying to find something familiar in someone who was never supposed to be familiar. Maybe I kept comparing you because I was too scared to simply experience you. And that's unfair. Because you were not supposed to become my former lover. You were supposed to become you. You weren't supposed to compete with my friends. You were supposed to become someone I could call home. And you definitely weren't supposed to compete with the dog. Because, babe... The dog has four legs. You have two. Let's start there. 😂 But you asked me something serious. “What made you fall in love with me?” And I don't know if I ever answered that properly. Maybe it was because you never begged for my attention. I gave it. You never demanded my care. I gave it. You never chased me into your life. I walked into yours. And perhaps that is why your leaving hurts differently. Because you didn't take something I had given you. You took something I had willingly built with you. You made space for me. You adjusted your schedule. You made room for the games. The movies. The lunches. The midnight conversations. Even the chess. You had a life. And somehow, you made room for me inside it. And I think I forgot how generous that was. Sometimes we become so comfortable with someone's presence that we stop noticing the sacrifices that made that presence possible. Until they stop making them. Then suddenly the silence becomes loud. Very loud. You said maybe you were just a tool I used to make myself feel better. That one hurt. Because maybe I did use your love as a mirror. Maybe I liked how you made me feel. Wanted. Important. Seen. But loving someone because of how they make you feel is not always the same as loving them. And maybe that's where I failed you. You wanted to be loved as a person. I was busy loving the comfort you brought. There is a difference. And then you said, “Let's drop this facade.” The dates. The calls. The lunches. Everything. And I wanted to argue. I wanted to say, “No, don't leave.” But then I remembered something. You had been asking me to hold you for a very long time. And I kept holding your hand without holding your heart. So perhaps this is the part where I stop asking you to stay. Perhaps love sometimes means accepting that someone has become tired of asking for the bare minimum. You said it's over. You said you don't want me in your space anymore. I could fight that. I could send a long message. I could call. I could show up. I could tell you I will change. But promises are cheap when someone has already spent months explaining what hurts. So... I'll respect your space. I'll respect your decision. And I'll even respect the dog. But before you go, I need you to know one thing. You were never just another person passing through my life. You were never just a friend who happened to text me on a random Tuesday. You were never a replacement for someone from my past. And you were certainly never supposed to compete with a dog. You were you. And maybe I realized that too late. So if the dog is really the better companion... Then be with your dog, she said. And for the first time, I had no clever response. Because sometimes the person you love doesn't leave because they stopped loving you. Sometimes... they leave because they finally realized loving you was making them forget to love themselves. And that is a goodbye you cannot negotiate. So go. Take your heart. Take your midnight movies. Take your chess games. Take all those little pieces of yourself you left behind while making room for me. And please... Don't look back. Because if you do, I might ask you to stay. And this time, I know better. You asked me to hold you. I should have. You asked me to choose you. I should have. But now that you're leaving, the only thing I can do... is finally choose you enough to let you go.

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