maybe you don't end up with the person you love. maybe that’s not how life works. maybe you don't get what you want. maybe love changes. maybe it goes from late night calls until dawn to “i don’t wanna talk, let me sleep.” maybe it goes from “i understand, i’m here,” to “why are you overthinking so much?" maybe it goes from “i love you,” to “i love myself now.”

maybe love isn't one of those things that grows with people. maybe overtime, after countless bruises, scars, and losses, you just become too big for it. maybe it becomes too uncomfortable, shallow, meaningless, too small for who you change into. maybe it's like that sweater you always loved growing up. you learn to appreciate it for what it was, but soon you come to terms with the fact that you’ve outgrown it. that you just have to let it go.

and maybe letting go of love isn't some loud celebration at the end of a dark tunnel. maybe it doesn’t even happen. maybe love does not disappear, maybe it just stops being liveable. it stays somewhere in memory, preserved, untouchable, like an old photograph you never throw away but also never frame again, or click another one.

maybe real does not mean permanent. maybe only real love ends. maybe that is the truth you live with. that real love is not meant to be continued, healed, or transformed. it’s meant to exist once, wholly, and then be held exactly as it were, forever. maybe love exists only in the past. somewhere you cannot live anymore. maybe only real love ends. and maybe that is a failure, but completion.