I Don’t Need You Anymore, I Believe In Making My Own Happy Ending


I write about you constantly. Maybe it’s because you’re the only love I’ve ever had, you’re the longest relationship I’ve been in, and you’re the one I wanted to spend forever with. I go about my days happy and content, yet, I still write more on you than I ever thought possible. 

I don’t know why you’re still in my head after all of this time. I don’t know why I still dream about you. And I don’t know why you are the center in 99% of my articles.

But here is what I do know. I know that what you and I had was special. I know that what you and I had was true love. And I know that that what you and I had, will never be forgotten. A magic like that should never be erased.

But, I also know that we have different lives now.

Different favorite songs, different favorite foods, and different best friends. I know we have different favorite cafe’s and different favorite Starbucks drink orders. We use different cities as our home now, and we have different ways of living now. We are different. We’ve changed.

And I know for certain, that I don’t need you anymore. Even on nights where I close my eyes and imagine touching your skin, I still know that deep down, I don’t need that. I don’t need your touch anymore. And I don’t need you.

You used to be my strength, my survival guide, and my map.

You were my blanket that fought off the cold air, and my compass that helped me take every baby step without fear. You were the guy I called for when I was sick, and the guy who got to hold my heart, without me being terrified of what you would do with it.

But now, over the years, I have grown up. Grown taller. And grown stronger. I am not the small bambi like girl whose afraid of the big, bad world. I’m confident. And I don’t need anyone to compliment me now. I’m beautiful, and I don’t need anyone to tell me that. I don’t need a guide. I don’t need a compass. I don’t need a map. I walk with longer strides now, firmly planted on concrete. Perfectly balanced, not even wavering when storms hit me.

So while I will probably write about you forever, and I will probably always miss the glorious times we had together, I don’t need you now. You aren’t my happy ending like I always thought you would be. You don’t live along the edges of my book.

Because now, I make my own story. And I don’t need you to be the writer anymore.