At 21, the world felt like it was mine to rule. I was old enough to make my own choices, yet still young enough to blame my youth for the consequences I was too scared to face. Call me a coward all you want, but you can’t deny that I was an invincible one.

At 22, a realization dawned on me–the world was smaller than I wanted it to be. “How disappointing,” I thought. The consequences weren’t worth it anymore, so it was time to grow up. No choice naman. I took it one step at a time, and from there, I could proudly say that I was doing well.

I made everything out of nothing.

Then came you.

At 23, the already minuscule world I deemed unworthy of effort took the shape of a 5’7” man. It was still small, but then again, it was you. And I really, really loved you.

The thought of loving you made me feel like my life had finally been planned out. You’ve given me direction; I wanted so badly for you to be the person I could grow with. Our relationship made me feel like I was 21 all over again, but this time, equipped with the knowledge of what I want, what I need, what I deserve, and what my world can offer.

At 24, the same knowledge ruined me.

Knowing what I want made me realize that you were incapable of giving it to me. I tried to explain my love, my needs, and what made me feel safe, but my explanations fell on deaf ears. And maybe I thought if I loved you enough, you'd eventually understand and give it back.

But you didn't.

Still, I kept hoping you'd change, that you'd choose me the way I kept choosing you. Yet every time we talked, you only reminded me why we broke up. You showed me again and again that my feelings were never your priority. That you loved me in your own way—but not in the way I needed. Not in the way I deserved.

At 25, I now know that I shouldn't have to beg to be loved gently, fully, or consistently. Blame it on my frontal lobe development. Love shouldn't feel like convincing someone to stay, to care, or to try harder. You weren't willing to change, and I won't keep shrinking myself just to fit what little you could give. I loved you, maybe more than I should have, but I'm learning now that letting go is also a form of love—for myself.

So no, you couldn't love me the way I wanted. And that's okay. Because I can. And one day, someone else will too, without needing to be asked.