I became a prisoner to my own love. I sacrificed pieces of myself just to keep you close, afraid that letting go would mean losing everything. I apologized for things I didn’t do, forgave things that shattered me, and ignored my own pain because loving you felt more important than loving myself. I became consumed by the fear of losing you. I bent myself into shapes I thought you’d love, quieted parts of myself I thought you didn’t. I sacrificed my needs, my voice, my happiness — anything to keep you close. Loving you became an act of survival, a desperate attempt to preserve something that was already gone.

I apologized for things I didn’t do, forgave things that shattered me, and pretended I didn’t notice when your love for me dimmed. I thought if I loved you enough for both of us, it would be enough to keep us afloat. But love shouldn’t feel like drowning. And yet, I kept sinking deeper. I became a shadow of myself in the effort to keep you. I changed the way I spoke, softened my edges, and swallowed my sadness because I thought loving you meant losing myself. I made myself smaller, quieter, easier to love — hoping that if I just became what you needed, you wouldn’t leave.

I ignored the ache in my chest every time you turned away. I forgave things that shattered me, excusing your indifference as exhaustion, your coldness as stress. I wrote off my own pain, convincing myself that love was supposed to hurt sometimes.

I loved you like my life depended on it, not realizing that I was slowly bleeding myself dry.