I let you go.

The sea rises high and the valleys fall low. The air becomes lonely and frigid, mimicking the trail of unhappiness that expands outwards from my small frame. I reminisce on memories of summer: carefree, comforting, and cloudless. Now, a cloud filled with regret and resentment continuously looms overhead. You brought me peace, stability, and warmth. You were my security blanket, something that I consistently leaned on—until you weren’t. 

You let me down.

You let the seasons change and forgot to tell me. I fell steps, followed by jumps, then leaps behind you, and I began to feel defeated. You had beaten me in a race that I always knew I could never win, and now a rematch seemed unnecessary and almost embarrassing. I resented you and everything you represented: passion, desire, and love. I no longer felt the deep devotion I used to feel every time I saw you. I relied on you for so long—too long.

You let me miss you. 

Part of me will always wonder if I made the right choice. Part of me will always want to go back. Part of me will always be filled with memories of you. Memories of the lengthy Saturdays we’d spend together. Of the early mornings and late nights. Of the countless friendships you led me to. I miss it all; however, what I miss most is the achievements. Knowing that all of the hours and hard work I dedicated to you meant something. Eight years were fought for you, and there isn’t one that regret. 

The fall was hard, but the climb back up was even harder. Just for a moment, I want it all back, and I detest myself for letting you go. I begin to wonder if someone can fall back in love. I tell myself maybe someday but not now. Now I will find something else that makes me as happy as you did. You will not be replaced, but you will be challenged.

I sometimes still hear your voice cry out in a whisper wanting me to come back to you, and I tell you why I can’t every time: I let you go.