Perhaps she’s not as expressive as she thought.
Because if she were, why is it so hard to tell this man she met months ago that she’s no longer feeling the spark that once lit her up?
Or maybe, it was never really a spark. Just hope, dressed up as connection.
Why can’t she just say it?
That she can’t see him in her future.
That somewhere between the deep conversations and the laughter, something inside her quietly dimmed.
That in the stillness of her mind, the picture no longer fits.
The weight of silence grows heavier.
Her replies come slower, her warmth more measured.
Still kind, still present—but only halfway. And he feels it. She knows he does.
She doesn’t want to string him along.
Not after knowing how it stings—How hope was dangled in front of her like a gift, only to be snatched away just when she started to believe it was real. How she chased after something that looked like love, only for it to vanish when she reached for it.
She won’t do that to him.
But how do you soften the blow for someone already weaving a forever with you?
He is planning a future.
She is searching for an exit that won’t leave him shattered.
And the hardest part?
He is not a bad man.
He listens. He texts back. He says all the right things.
But she wants more than that.
She wants to feel like a woman, cradled in tenderness. Her softness cherished. To rest in her femininity.
Not praised endlessly for her resilience.
She wants a love where being soft isn’t seen as weakness, but as a form of trust.
A love that feels like exhaling, not endurance.
She’s tired of being applauded for how much she can carry. She wants a safe space to rest, unburden, and breathe—free from the weight of the world.
In the beginning, she really believed in what they had.
The instant connection. The deep conversations. The butterflies swirling like confetti.
He was emotionally present. He shared her values. He asked the right questions, said the right things. He saw her.
She was ecstatic. Perhaps this was her haven.
But maybe she was just hopeful. Maybe she was just delusional.
Sitting now with her thoughts, just weeks later, the glow is fading.
Not because he changed, but because she did.
She started to hear the things between the words.
To feel the weight of expectations she didn’t sign up for.
That night, when he spoke of “next year” with certainty, her stomach tightened.
And she can no longer silence her instincts. They keep screaming back.
Because she made a promise to herself.
Never again would she betray her own peace just to keep someone else comfortable.
And now she stands at the edge of something that’s almost good.
But not right—not hers.
How does she untangle herself from something that didn’t break her,
But quietly stopped fitting?
Sometimes, it’s not the pain that ends it.
It’s the quiet realization that love, even when it’s soft,
shouldn’t come at the cost of your own balance.
So, she drifts.
Not because she wants to.
But because staying would mean shrinking.
And she’s done doing that.