I don’t want to go.
Not because I’m afraid of leaving,
but because staying still feels like breathing your name
one last time.
And yet, baby, we both know—
this is not our time.
Not because the feeling isn’t real,
not because the connection was mistaken,
but because life arrived with heavier hands
than either of us were ready to hold.
Some loves are born at the wrong hour,
beneath skies that aren’t ready to open.
Some hearts meet while carrying too much history,
too many responsibilities,
too many unfinished chapters asking to be honoured first.
So this is where we stand—
not broken,
not angry,
just honest enough to admit
that love alone doesn’t always bend the clock.
It’s time to say goodbye.
Not the kind that erases,
not the kind that closes doors forever,
but the kind whispered softly
so the soul doesn’t bruise on the way out.
I will walk away slowly,
not because I want distance,
but because distance is kinder than forcing a future
that hasn’t learned how to exist yet.
Until we meet again—
because something in me refuses to believe
this is the end.
This feels more like an intermission,
a pause between acts
where the lights dim,
the music softens,
and the audience holds its breath
before the next scene begins.
There will come a day—
I don’t know when,
I don’t know how—
when the paths we couldn’t walk together
will finally run side by side.
A day when timing stops arguing with the heart.
A day when responsibilities settle into place.
A day when questions no longer weigh more than answers.
On that day,
the violins will play—not loudly,
but with the kind of music that understands longing.
The kind that rises slowly,
like hope remembering how to stand.
And the angels—
they will cry, not from sorrow,
but from recognition.
From watching two souls finally arrive
where patience has been guiding them all along.
When the stars align—
not dramatically,
not for spectacle—
but quietly, precisely,
as if they had been waiting
for us to grow into the moment—
I’ll be here.
Not chasing the past.
Not demanding the future.
Just standing where I promised I would be,
with a heart that learned how to wait
without closing.
Until then,
go where you need to go.
Become who you’re meant to become.
Heal what needs gentleness.
Carry what must be carried.
I’ll do the same.
Because love like this
doesn’t vanish when it steps aside.
It simply learns patience.
And if the universe is kind—
if destiny keeps its quiet word—
this goodbye will one day reveal itself
as nothing more than a long way around
to finding our way back.
Until then…
this isn’t the end.
