You know what’s funny? I loved you. Genuinely, fuckin loved you. And you took that and used it like a some stupid makeshift lockpick.

I spent years over this glass asking what I did wrong.
Years.
You know what it finally showed me?
That I hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong. I just trusted a woman who understood that trust is another word for wound.

The part nobody warns you about is having to love the loss of it. Not grieve it. Love it. That’s where everyone falls short. They mourn what they’re misplaced.

I celebrated.

Grief belongs to people who still think it could’ve gone differently.