I dedicated my pen and ink to someone you feel betrayed by. Who makes you think, "Was I ever really seen and valued, or just seen as a possible yes? Like if love was real, why did friendship become optional?" It’s a quiet fury towards someone who claimed to care, but couldn’t stay when things didn’t go their way.
•••
The silence broke,
a message, out of nowhere.
He wanted answers.
Already assumed a no,
already retreating.
But how do you time a heart?
Isn’t love supposed to come gently?
Like light spilling through curtains,
like warmth after rain,
not like this, not rushed,
not demanded before it has room to grow.
She stared at his words.
How he said he loved her.
How he regretted the timing.
How he feared being too late,
but in trying to be early,
he may have cut the bloom short.
And then came the line,
that carved its ache into her chest.
“We can still be friends,
just not as close.”
Like closeness was conditional.
Like friendship was a prize,
you could take back,
when love didn’t unfold,
on your timeline.
He said he never wanted this,
never wanted to lose a friend,
but here he was,
doing just that.
Claiming to care,
but pulling away,
because love didn’t come fast enough.
She read his sadness.
He let his insecurities speak louder,
than the connection he swore meant something.
And for what?
Because she didn’t say “yes”
fast enough for him?
He loved too conditionally,
and called it honesty.
How a glimpse of her past
shook him into silence.
How he believed,
he wasn’t enough.
Not her type,
not her number one.
But since when was love about checkboxes?”
Because love,
true love,
waits with open hands,
not ultimatums.
It doesn’t unravel at the first bruise,
of doubt or distance.
She sat with the weight of it all.
His absence where laughter used to live,
the hollowness in shared spaces,
how even the group felt uneven now.
How the most beautiful part of him,
his warmth, his steady company,
who didn’t treat her heart,
like a ticking clock.
now close to dressed as a goodbye.
But now?
She doesn’t miss the version,
that made her feel like time ran out.
She’s disappointed.
Not because he confessed,
but because of everything after.
He let his insecurities speak louder,
than the connection he swore meant something.
And for what?
Because she didn’t say “yes”
fast enough for him?
He loved too conditionally,
and called it honesty.
How a glimpse of her past
shook him into silence.
How he believed,
he wasn’t enough.
Not her type,
not her number one.
But since when was love about checkboxes?”
Because love,
true love,
waits with open hands,
not ultimatums.
It doesn’t unravel at the first bruise,
of doubt or distance.
She sat with the weight of it all.
His absence where laughter used to live,
the hollowness in shared spaces,
how even the group felt uneven now.
How the most beautiful part of him,
his warmth, his steady company,
who didn’t treat her heart,
like a ticking clock.
now close to dressed as a goodbye.
But now?
She doesn’t miss the version,
that made her feel like time ran out.
She’s disappointed.
Not because he confessed,
but because of everything after.
Because he treated,
his own fears,
like facts.
his own fears,
like facts.
Maybe one day,
he’ll realize,
love isn’t proven by how fast you fall.
or by confession alone.
but by what you do,
How you hold space,
when the answer isn’t immediate.
How could he be okay with this?
With throwing away the friendship,
just because love didn’t land,
on his timeline?
How was it so easy
for him to switch off,
to shrink back,
to reduce everything they built,
to a moment that didn’t go his way?
She thought he was different.
Not someone who’d offer friendship,
only if it stayed convenient.
He claimed to care.
Claimed to love.
But what kind of love,
gives up this quickly?
What kind of friendship,
has terms and conditions?
She’s not just sad.
She’s angry.
he’ll realize,
love isn’t proven by how fast you fall.
or by confession alone.
but by what you do,
How you hold space,
when the answer isn’t immediate.
How could he be okay with this?
With throwing away the friendship,
just because love didn’t land,
on his timeline?
How was it so easy
for him to switch off,
to shrink back,
to reduce everything they built,
to a moment that didn’t go his way?
She thought he was different.
Not someone who’d offer friendship,
only if it stayed convenient.
He claimed to care.
Claimed to love.
But what kind of love,
gives up this quickly?
What kind of friendship,
has terms and conditions?
She’s not just sad.
She’s angry.
She felt betrayed.
Because she never asked for this.
But he made her feel,
like love had to be instant,
or not at all.
And now?
She wishes she could rewind.
Not to change her answer,
but to unshare her softness,
to untrust his warmth,
to unwrite the closeness,
he so easily discarded.
Because she never asked for this.
But he made her feel,
like love had to be instant,
or not at all.
And now?
She wishes she could rewind.
Not to change her answer,
but to unshare her softness,
to untrust his warmth,
to unwrite the closeness,
he so easily discarded.