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I don’t know if it started the moment I met him
or the moment I convinced myself that he was different.
But looking back now, I can see exactly where I allowed things to go wrong.
It happened quietly, almost softly, the way slow heartbreak always does.
I broke my own rules for someone who never chose me,
and I didn’t even notice until the damage was already done.
It’s strange how we convince ourselves that a little patience can turn into love.
He never promised me anything,
but he also never stopped me from hoping.
Our conversations stretched late into the night,
the kind that feel like they’re building toward something real.
He’d tell me he liked talking to me.
He’d say I made his day better.
He’d hint just enough to keep me close,
but never enough to call it anything.
And with every half-smile and almost-plan,
I dropped one more boundary.
The rule about not texting first? Gone.
The rule about not waiting up? Gone.
The rule about not losing myself just to feel chosen?
Completely forgotten.
I kept telling myself it wasn’t a big deal.
That bending a little didn’t mean breaking.
But every time he pulled away,
I leaned in a little more.
I thought if I showed him consistency, he’d finally choose me.
If I stayed,
if I understood him,
if I excused every mixed signal,
maybe it would all make sense in the end.
But it didn’t.
There was no dramatic ending.
No final argument.
It was just silence.
The kind that gives you your answer without saying anything.
I realised he was never mine to lose
because he never let me close enough to have him in the first place.
The truth is, I broke my own rules trying to fit into his world
while he never even opened the door to mine.
It took me time to understand this,
but people who want you don’t confuse you.
They don’t treat your presence like an option
or your effort like background noise.
They don’t show you sparks
and then leave you in the dark.
I kept waiting for him to choose me
until I finally realised
I had to choose myself instead.
I don’t hate him for it.
Maybe he didn’t know what he wanted.
Maybe he wasn’t ready.
Maybe I romanticised him into something he never claimed to be.
But I do wish I had protected my heart
the way I always said I would.
I still think about the version of me who tried so hard.
She deserved more,
and I’m learning to give her that now.
I’m rebuilding my rules,
not as walls but as reminders.
If someone wants to be in my life,
they won’t need me to break myself
to make space for them.
That is something I’m finally sure of.
Disclaimer: This confession is inspired by real submissions. Names and details may be changed to protect privacy.
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