Every moment is a choice—
and I chose you.
Not once,
but over and over,
in silent seconds
and loud, unraveling days.

I chose to love you
when love wasn’t easy.
When your edges were sharp,
when your silence felt like distance—
I stayed.
Where others might have walked away,
I dug in deeper.
I held on tighter.
I believed.

I chose to see the good
even when the bad tried to steal the light.
I chose to forgive,
to understand,
to wait.
To believe that what we had
was worth choosing again.

And I would still choose you—
in another life,
on another street,
with all the same cracks
and all the same flaws.

But you didn’t choose me.
Not when it mattered.
Not when staying meant fighting.
You chose to go
when I chose to hold on.
You chose duty,
and I understand that.
But still—
it wasn’t me.

And maybe that’s the difference:
I saw love as a promise.
You saw it as a place to leave
when life got heavy.