Dear Diary,

I know this might sound strange, even dramatic, but I think I’ve just had my heart broken.

Twice.

In less than two months.

Last night, reality finally knocked on my door.

Whispering, It’s over.

Truly, finally over.

We had a long call, words exchanged, and silence that said even more.

There’s no “us” anymore.

There never really was.

We weren’t friends.

Maybe we never were.

I feel used, Diary.

Stripped of something I can’t quite name.

I blame myself, for feeling too much, for letting my heart think in place of my brain.

That first kiss, the way our fingers laced like promises…

I regret letting it all happen.

I let him touch the parts of me I guard from the world, and now I feel hollow.

I thought it was love.

I thought he was love.

A soulmate.

A forever.

A home.

But I was wrong.

So painfully wrong.

Now, everything reminds me of him.

His voice echoes in the silence I used to enjoy.

I haven’t cried, but the tears sit there, waiting.

My chest aches, my heart is stubborn, it doesn’t want to let go.

Still, I must.

I have to.

Even if I can’t erase all the memories, I can choose to stop feeding them.

I’m grateful for one thing, he showed me what love could feel like, even if it wasn’t meant to last.

We were prayer partners, secret keepers, best friends in our best moments.

Maybe our paths will cross again. Maybe they won’t.

But for now, Diary...

It’s goodbye. Goodbye, lover.

Goodbye, friend.