My Life Journey With Him :)

The suitcase sat by the door, half-zipped and bulging with clothes hurriedly thrown in. It wasn't supposed to end like this, but then again, endings rarely matched the stories people imagined.

They stood in the middle of the room, staring at the familiar walls that had once felt like a haven. Now they pressed in, heavy with the echoes of unspoken words and quiet battles fought in solitude.

"You're really leaving?" his voice came from the doorway, low and strained.

They turned, meeting his gaze. His eyes searched theirs, but for what, they didn't know. Understanding? Forgiveness? Hope?

"I have to," they said, their voice steady even as their heart felt anything but. "I can't keep fighting for both of us."

He frowned, confusion flashing across his face. "What are you talking about? I've been here the whole time."

"No," they said, shaking their head. "You've been present, but you haven't been with me. Not when it mattered."

He stepped closer, hands outstretched, but they took a step back. The distance felt symbolic—just like the chasm that had grown between them over time.

"I've been fighting for us," they continued, their voice cracking now. "Every day, I've been trying to hold us together, to make you see what we could be. But I've been doing it alone. And I can't anymore."

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn't come. Silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things he wouldn't—or couldn't—say.

"Do you know how many nights I stayed up, wondering if I could find the right words to make you understand? How many times I pushed aside my own pain because I thought maybe this time, you'd see me? You'd see us?"

His head dropped, his hands falling to his sides. "I didn't know," he murmured.

"I know," they replied, their tone soft but firm. "That's the problem. You didn't know because you didn't look. You didn't ask. And I can't keep breaking myself trying to hold onto someone who doesn't even see what I've been fighting for."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words settling in. They turned back to the suitcase, zipping it shut with finality.

"I love you," they said, their voice barely above a whisper. "But love isn't enough if I'm the only one carrying it."

And with that, they picked up the suitcase, leaving behind the man who couldn't see the battles they'd fought, or the wounds they carried for the both of them.

Sometimes, love meant staying. But sometimes, it meant walking away before you lost yourself entirely.