Not One of Them

I’ve made too many wrong decisions in life. That’s not some poetic exaggeration, it’s just a fact I’ve learned to live with. Wrong courses, wrong cities, wrong jobs, wrong silences. I’ve said the right thing at the wrong time, or worse, said nothing when it mattered. I’ve left messages unread until they became pointless. I've held on to anger longer than it deserved to stay. I’ve burned bridges just because I didn’t know how to cross them. I’ve convinced myself I was okay when I wasn’t even close. And I’ve let people go simply because I didn’t know how to ask them to stay.

But loving her... that wasn’t one of them.

She came into my life quietly. No dramatic music, no cinematic timing, just a normal Tuesday evening, and a conversation I wasn’t ready to end. She spoke like the world was never rushing her. Like every word deserves to be chosen carefully. And maybe that’s what drew me in, I was always full of noise inside, but around her, everything softened. Even me.

It wasn’t some fairytale beginning. I didn’t know it would mean so much. We talked, we met, we lingered. She asked questions that no one ever bothered to. Like why I stopped sketching, or why I held my teacup with both hands like I needed to anchor myself. She noticed the cracks in my voice when I said I was fine. She called them out, not loudly, just enough that I couldn’t lie to myself.

We had our moments, our seasons. We never promised permanence. Maybe that was our flaw. Or maybe our only chance at keeping things beautiful was never trying to keep them forever.

When it ended, it didn’t crash; it dissolved. Slowly, quietly, like sugar in warm water. She said we’d changed. I didn’t disagree. We had. But even now, long after the last conversation faded into a read receipt and silence, I carry no bitterness. Just this stubborn, strange kind of gratitude.

Because yes, I’ve made countless mistakes. I’ve taken turns I shouldn’t have. I’ve trusted the wrong people. I’ve given too much of myself to things that never gave back.

But not her.
Not us.
Not that love.

That love, even in its ending, was never a mistake.
It was the one decision I made without a doubt.
And even now, with everything else uncertain, I'm certain about that.