Your Story. My Story. Our Story.

 

Some doors stay open. Some hang ajar. Others? Slammed shut.

But if you were given a second chance… would you take it?

I haven’t written in a while.

Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to all of you.

I’m sorry for the disappearing act—I just needed to get away for a bit.

On my birthday, I received a message.

I took it with a grain of salt and, once again, forgave the mishandling of that day.

Deep down, I always knew it never meant much to them.

And if I’m being real—neither did I.

Still, a part of me always held on.

Kept the door cracked, hoping one day… they’d walk through it.

But that day—and that message—shifted something.

There was weight in their words. Heaviness.

Laced with pain. Grief. Maybe even regret.

Though I wasn’t sure if I had anything to do with that regret—and for the first time, I didn’t wonder.

I listened. And I did exactly what was asked of me.

I gave space. I allowed time.

Because we all know—that’s the only combination that can ever truly heal anything.

That weekend, though…

It gutted me.

Secrets spilled.

Hard ones.

Ones I had to swallow alone.

Because it wasn’t just about not being chosen.

It was watching someone else be given what I had begged for in silence.

Reading those words—knowing that what happened to me was overlooked, dismissed…

Only to be craved by someone else—I felt my body reject the truth.

When it came out, I got a half-ass apology.

Followed by the usual excuse: “I’ve just been busy.”

The words I read that day came from a deeply vulnerable place.

And yet, the one thing that wrecked me most?

I still chose to be the bigger person.

I swallowed my pain—again—to protect the one person who never protected me.

I was their punchline.

The story they told at a bar for attention.

I was the joke. The pity. The maybe.

The pimp. The ego boost. The last resort.

I was the one who never stopped believing in us—even when they showed me exactly who I was to them.

Not the choice.

Not the dream.

Just… convenient.

And still, when they lost something sacred—

I showed up.

Like I always had.

Then came those words: I need space.

On the day I wanted to celebrate my life,

They didn’t even acknowledge it.

A long voice message.

Different from all the ones before.

I listened.

Then relistened—taking slow sips of my birthday cocktail in between.

There was a real apology buried in there. One for everything leading up to this moment.

And I believed it. I really did.

I replied with a simple truth:

“I agree—time and space are essential. Take care of yourself.”

And I meant it.

Because I did want them to find peace.

Even if I knew it would require work they’ve never really done.

They’ve always gotten by on charm. Good looks. The ease of skimming the surface.

But peace? That asks for depth. For honesty. For presence.

None of which they ever practiced—at least not with me.

That was my white flag.

The moment I finally admitted it—I never meant that much.

I was just someone from their past.

And they…

just became someone I used to know.

No bitterness.

Just truth.

It took me almost four years to complete my second book.

Halfway through, I set the original draft on metaphorical fire.

It hurt too much to retell.

Because it wasn’t our story anymore.

It was likely a tale retold in someone else’s bed,

while my name got replaced and my worth got erased.

So I started over.

Brick by brick.

Line by line.

Not just changing the narrative—but reclaiming it.

I built something that didn’t trace their shadow.

I built something real. Something mine.

And it took a whole gang of muses—unexpected, chaotic, beautiful souls—to push me to finish the final piece of this series.

For what it’s worth?

I believe in the story now more than ever.

The one that whispers: It’s not over.

But here’s the truth…

I’m no longer the one keeping the door open.

Yes, I know I pull at them.

Yes, I know I live in the cracks of memory and the spaces they don’t talk about.

Yes, I know there’s a love they don’t want to admit.

But I’m not chasing.

Not anymore.