It’s strange how someone can feel like both a rescue and a ruin at the same time. You walked into my life when everything felt heavy, like I was carrying days I didn’t even want to wake up to anymore. And somehow, without trying too hard, you made things lighter. You became the reason silence didn’t feel so loud, the reason nights didn’t stretch as long as they used to. You pulled me out of something I couldn’t even explain, something dark, something quiet, something that almost convinced me I was better off alone. But the thing about being saved by someone is that you start to forget how to stand on your own. I didn’t notice it at first, how much of my peace began to depend on your presence, how my good days started to have your name written all over them. And when you slowly became distant, when your voice turned into something I could only remember instead of hear, it felt like being dropped back into the same place you once rescued me from. Only this time, it hurt more. Because now I knew what it felt like to be okay, and I knew exactly who I lost when I wasn’t. I don’t blame you for leaving, not entirely. People come and go, and maybe you were never meant to stay as long as I needed you to. But there’s a quiet kind of ache in realizing that the person who once held you together is the same person who unknowingly watched you fall apart again. It’s not anger I feel, it’s something softer, something more fragile. Like missing a version of myself that only existed when you were still here. And maybe that’s what makes it hardest to move on, not just losing you, but losing the way I was when I had you.