There was a time I called it love
the kind that hurt,
the kind that stayed too long,
the kind that taught me
to forget myself
just to keep someone else.

But love shouldn't
make you smaller
just to fit inside
someone else's heart.

I spent years watering
a garden she never planned to grow,
waiting for something to bloom
from soil already turned to stone.
And when she left,
I thought I was the one
who was empty.

But now,
the silence doesn't sting.
The memories don’t wear her perfume.
I see her face
without wondering if I could’ve done more.

Because I did
I gave more than I had,
and now I’m giving that back
to me.

I've learned that letting go
isn't giving up.
It's giving in
to what deserves space:
peace,
clarity,
a future that doesn’t wait
on someone who never stayed.

She was a lesson
not a loss.
A reflection of who I was,
not who I’ll become.

And maybe love didn’t last,
but growth did.
And I’m still here,
standing taller,
rooted deeper,
finally blooming
for myself.