Dear NKRL,
(You know who you are—I won’t name drop.)
This is the last time you’ll see me, hear from me, or even feel like you still have access to me.
By the time you read this, I might already be married. And I hope that thought pierces through your ego.
God knows how low I had fallen when you met me.
You came into my life at the most unexpected time—
but your timing never quite matched mine.
You made a move when I wasn’t even interested.
And I admit, you had charm.
You were great… until you weren’t.
Back then, I didn’t know what “love bombing” or “guilt-tripping” meant.
All I knew was what I felt—confused, manipulated, and small.
Turns out, I was already experiencing it.
I just didn’t have the words for it yet.
I used to be thankful you’d make time for me despite your “busy schedule.”
But then I realized—I was something you just squeezed in between everything else.
You became forceful about things I wasn’t ready for.
Things I didn’t want.
And we had no label.
I asked for one.
You said we had to keep things discreet—because we were neighbors.
When I became single, you turned me into your fling.
And when you ghosted me, I spiraled.
Overthinking.
Questioning.
Hurting.
“What are we?”
“Was I not enough?”
I felt jealous, angry—but I had no right, because there was nothing real to hold on to.
Eventually, I got tired of waiting.
For the label I was begging and asking from you
But all you gave me were reasons,
Just like how thick a Dictionary is,
It was just like you too.
I got tired of it, waiting for nothing
Not knowing when will that happen.
You always tell me that I do not know how to wait. I am impatient.
So, anyways;
I found someone else.
And you… you backed off. Maybe out of respect, or maybe just because it wasn’t convenient anymore.
Our on-and-off, undefined something faded.
I started unsending the messages I had sent—the ones you never even cared to read.
That’s how pitiful I felt, like I was begging for breadcrumbs you had no intention of sharing.
Then came 2022.
I found my soulmate.
And you—you ruined us.
When my partner found out about our past, he was furious.
And I don’t blame him.
I let you in—not because I still had feelings for you,
but because I thought you were still my friend.
But I was wrong.
You weren’t.
You used that friendship to worm your way in and blur lines.
You abused the closeness I once thought was safe.
I felt like a cup of hot coffee—
left unattended.
And when he finally came back,
I had already gone cold.
But the issue was never the coffee.
It was always the one who was supposed to drink it.
I always waited for him—
until one day, I didn’t anymore.
Because time won’t wait for me,
and I can’t keep letting it pass me by
while holding on to someone
who never truly held on to me.
Maybe I’ll never learn to smile the same again.
Maybe the scars will stay a little longer.
But I know this deep in my bones:
I’ll make it through.
And if you ever decide to wait for me—
truly wait—
then maybe, just maybe,
you'll find me
not where you left me,
but somewhere stronger.
By the way,
thank you so much for holding my hand—
I truly thought you were the one pulling me out of the storm.
Somehow, I was wrong.
You were the reason for my drowning,
the weight beneath the waves,
the anchor I mistook for rescue.
You weren’t my light—
you were my darkness.
So here I am now—stronger, wiser, finally done.
No more waiting. No more unsent messages.
No more trying to decode your silence.
This is goodbye.
No closure needed.
Because I’ve already closed that door myself.
—Me.
