✍️ It Already 💔 Broken

 I don’t talk about it.

People think we just move on — laugh it off, find someone new.

But the truth is, I haven’t been the same since she left.


It didn’t break me all at once.

It happened slowly — in the way she stopped reaching for my hand.

In the silence between her “I love you” and mine.

In the nights she turned away, and I stared at her back, wondering when I became a stranger.


I still remember her laugh.

The way she used to look at me like I was enough.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped being that man.

Or maybe she stopped seeing him.


I don’t blame her. Not really.

I just hate how quiet it was — the way she left emotionally long before she walked out physically.


Now I go about my days like everything’s fine.

I joke with the boys. I post. I work.

But at night —

when no one’s looking —

I sit in the dark and replay everything I could’ve done differently.


My chest still feels heavy when I see a photo of her.

My stomach turns when I hear someone say her name.

And when people ask if I’ve moved on, I just smile and say, “Yeah, I’m good.”


But the truth?

I’m not good. I’m just surviving.

There’s a version of me that died with that relationship —

and some days, I don’t recognize who’s left.


It didn’t just break my heart.

It broke the man I was trying to become.

And I don’t even know how to start rebuilding.

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