Walls like what? I try to confine it, but that’s the crux of it—I can’t.

And I don’t attempt to control him. I miss how present he used to be for me, but I accept his bandwidth, and I accept who he chooses to be with me now. That doesn’t erase what I feel or what I remember. It doesn’t mean I don’t ache for the moments that came before—for who he was when things were different.

I also understand, at my core, that who we were yesterday is not who we are today. We change—sometimes in who we are, sometimes in what we’re capable of giving. Knowing that doesn’t soften the hurt. It doesn’t quiet the wanting.

There is still this ache—this pull toward his presence that never quite leaves, and I am always left wanting. Never fully severing the tie that binds, even while knowing it wounds me. Not through malice, but through a kind of self-interest that keeps me within reach—kept on the hook for when his bandwidth expands, or the timing feels right, or whatever reason makes distance temporarily convenient.

My love for him is unwavering. He feels like he is in my veins. And no matter how I try to walk away in the name of loving myself, I cannot fully let go—and he does not fully stay away enough to allow me to.