We broke up because we kept hurting each other in small, quiet ways; nothing big enough to leave at first, but enough to slowly wear us down, until one day it didn’t feel like love anymore—just something we were both too tired to fix.

We broke up because you slowly stopped letting me in; you said you were just “busy” or “not okay,” but you never really shared anything, and I stayed until loving you started to feel like standing outside a door that never opened.

We broke up because we wanted different kinds of love; I needed reassurance and closeness, while you needed space and silence, and no matter how hard we tried to understand each other, we kept feeling unloved in our own ways.

We broke up because you only loved me when it was easy; the moment things got serious, you turned everything into a joke, and I laughed along until I realized I was crying alone over something you never took seriously in the first place.

We broke up because you kept saying “later” to everything that mattered; later to fixing us, later to talking, later to trying, until one day there was no “later” left—and I was the only one who stayed long enough to watch us end.