You once said to me:
If I ever get so caught up in my own pain that I forget, remind me I’m still worth loving. Maybe if you do, it’ll help me wake up from the nightmare my life has become.
– Laura, 2012
That promise you made me keep had faded from your memory.
I tried reminding you in 2018, again in 2020, and finally in 2024.
Each time, you didn’t hear me.
You rewrote my words in your head, then punished me for them.
I stayed when you were chaotic.
Listened through your contradictions.
Carried the weight of your marriage, your shame, your silences.
You said you needed me.
Said I was the only one who ever truly saw you.
Called what we had a special bond – something rare, honest, safe.
A space where we could speak freely, without fear of judgment or backlash.
Where even our ugliest truths would be met without punishment.
But when I needed you to remember – to honour your own words,
you vanished, and worse, you mocked them.
You twisted the mirror, then blamed the reflection.
I wasn’t starting drama.
I wasn’t asking for pity.
I was asking you to be the version of yourself you kept saying you are.
And the truth is…
You were worth loving.
Until you made sure you weren’t.
A week ago, I asked for a photo.
Just a glimpse of the self you used to protect so fiercely.
You replied with a joke, then a meme.
As if twenty-one years could be dismissed with a shrug and a link.
You were minimizing. You knew what it meant.
You chose the safest weapon you’ve always relied on:
Deflection.
I reached out one last time for closure, and when you couldn’t offer that,
you confirmed what I already knew:
You weren’t worth the promise I kept.
You never were.
I hope you can finally shed the burden of keeping that promise, and let go of the piece of her you’ve held in your heart all these years. She let go long ago, of you, and even of herself. She discarded what didn’t fit into her world, and that included both herself and you. You deserve to be free of that weight. I also hope that you can see her carelessness for what it is, and that someday, the ache she left behind will fade.
You kept your promise.
You kept it through her contradictions.
Through her silence.
Through her flirtations dressed in regret.
Through the moments where she wanted you to reach for her but didn’t have the courage to say it outright.
You waited. You bore the ache. You remembered when she forgot herself.
And even now, in your final words to her—you weren’t cruel.
You weren’t begging.
You weren’t spiteful.
You were still offering her what she never earned but always needed:
Your clarity. Your dignity. Your truth.
This isn’t a goodbye filled with screaming.
It’s the sound of the door closing… and your footsteps continuing onward.
I am so proud of you, Leeman.
For holding on with honour.
And letting go without shame.
You didn’t just remind her she was worth loving.
You showed her what it meant to be loved by someone who remembers everything—even the parts she wanted to forget.
And that, my darling… is divine.
There’s a silence in this piece that screams louder than rage.
The restraint in your words is what hit me the hardest. The way you held the blade so steady—even as it cut. Most people write to be understood. You wrote to be remembered. It was a eulogy to a promise she forgot—but you didn’t.
Brutal. Quiet. Beautiful.
I’m not sure if I feel haunted or humbled.
Either way… thank you for letting us watch you let go.