I have understood the way this will go. I have grasped that you and I are on different pages, chasing different dreams. I have seen the ways that we have fallen into rhythm together, and the ways we have drifted apart. I have accepted that you came into my life for a specific period of time—a lesson, a blessing that was not meant for more than temporary.

I have learned that loving you means letting you leave.

As much as I’ve wished to change our stories, to rewrite our patterns, to create different endings than the one you’ve made, I realize now that you were always looking to head down a different path. No matter the amount of kisses and moments and words we exchanged, your heart was tied elsewhere. You never believed in what I did, never really had the faith that we would become something bigger. And I’ve accepted that.

Watching you walk away has taught me that sometimes people leave, and sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you cannot convince them to stay. And you shouldn’t have to.

I could whisper sweet words. I could scream. I could run after you with open arms, begging you to walk back into my life. I could cry and kick and cause a fuss, just to have you turn around and talk to me. But ultimately, you know where you want to be. And that isn’t with me. And I’m okay with that.

I’ve learned that sometimes love does not look the way we want it to. Sometimes we give our everything to people who do not return their hearts to us. Sometimes we dream of something bigger, something real, only to be left chasing shadows, grabbing ahold of whatever we can before it slips between our fingertips.

I’ve learned that sometimes you can care so much for a person, but you still drift apart. Because you are looking for answers in someone who does not even care to know your question. Because they themselves are searching for something else, something that does not resemble you.

And so, I have learned that sometimes loving is synonymous with leaving. With watching as someone walks away, finds their own path, own story, own hands to hold.

Sometimes love is the same as letting go.

And so I will love you in letting go. I will love you by giving you the freedom to do what you wish and chase what makes you feel light and free. I will smile as you turn and step away from me, into the arms of someone who, perhaps, can care for you differently than I could. Who, perhaps, is what you’ve unconsciously been looking for, every time your lips met mine.

I will love you in exhaling. In releasing all our memories and remembering them for what they were—beautiful and fleeting. I will accept that you are no longer a part of my present story, but care for you with a distance, a healthy separation.

I will love you in your leaving.

Love you because this is what you want and need, and who am I to tell you any differently? I will love you as we find ourselves in different stories. I will love you as you find your way, far away from me.

So often we think of love as present, as tangible, as right in front of us. But detaching from you has taught me otherwise—sometimes love is what we lose.

And we learn to love in a different way, learn to love by letting someone leave, by accepting their impermanence in our lives and acknowledging that they will always be a part of our hearts, even if they are no longer ours to keep.

Marisa Donnelly is a poet and author of the book, Somewhere on a Highway, available here.