I thought maybe it would come with time. My heart would slowly let go. It might take months, years, but it would happen. Maybe I wouldn’t notice it at first. But one day, I’d know.

I’d wake up and just know. I don’t love you anymore.

But that’s never happened. Not even remotely close.

You’re still taking up space, even if now it’s just in my memories.

I love you as effortlessly as breathing. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know how to do it. I don’t remember a time when it didn’t feel second nature.

Loving you has been one of the only constants in my life.

Loving you is a muscle of mine. It just strengthens with time, with practice. I don’t know how to stop.

Is that wrong? Should I know how to cut this thing off?

You’re not mine to love. And I know that. Reality comes trickling up my throat even when I don’t want it to.

We’ve said our goodbyes. We’ve closed this chapter. Again and again. We’ve put the relationship to bed.

But still, here I am. Here I am loving you, waiting for the day that I stop.

What if I always do? What if loving you is the only thing I know how to do?