Sometimes loss is devastating. It knocks you out cold. It forces you to be alone. To walk by yourself. It shows us how weak we are. And how we can feel empty without someone else.

But other times, loss isn’t so heavy. It comes in small pieces, until there is but nothing left.

And that’s how I lost you. Losing you was not crashing waves. It was a slow burn.

It was missed phone calls. Changes in tone. Talking less. Feeling off. Knowing something was wrong.

Losing you was a slow burn. It wasn’t cruel. It was a band-aid that was ripped off over time. It didn’t devastate me.

I was ready for it, when the time came.

And I can’t be mad for the feeling. It hurt less. Knowing that it was inevitable. It was the realization that maybe we no longer fit. Maybe we were better separately, then together.

And it still pains me to let you go. But maybe, just maybe it is for the best. We were strong, and happy. Until we weren’t. And while letting go took time, it was on our time.

And maybe we held on a little longer then we should’ve. We held on to the memories. We clung to hope, and the past, instead of the future. Fully knowing all along that this is how it would end.

But I’m not bitter. I know this is for the best. And like life always says, it has a way of working out how it’s supposed to.

You were the slow burn I didn’t wish for. You were the heartbreak that happened over time. So slowly, that by the time it happened, I couldn’t really feel. We became strong, just to let go.

Losing you was a slow burn. It was a game I couldn’t win. It was fact. Meant to be. A slow burn over time. Faint, but still a burn. And while the burn may last forever, the pain is behind me.

Sometimes we have to set fire to the things we love. Watch them burn. And then walk away.