There’s a part of me that didn’t want to write this.
There’s an even bigger part of me that didn’t want to feel this.

But instead of calling you back, I wrote this letter.

Not to blame you.
Not to get a reaction.
But to set myself free.

I’ve spent the past few weeks trying to be there for you. I listened. I showed up. I made space for your grief. I even got you a card for Father’s Day—not because I had to, but because I wanted you to know someone saw you. That I saw you.

But today, when I needed to feel seen—when I texted you that someone broke into my car and heard nothing but silence—I realized something I didn’t want to admit:
You don’t show up for me the way I show up for you.

You were active on social media. You weren’t unreachable. You just didn’t respond. And that silence echoed louder than anything you could’ve said.

What hurt the most wasn’t even the lack of a text back. It’s what it symbolized.

I would’ve dropped everything to be there for you. I have—many times. And it’s not that I expect perfection or constant availability. It’s that I expect what I give.
Your complete disregard for what was going on in my life reminded me that I’ve been giving my softness, my time, my energy, my body, to someone who hasn’t consistently made me feel emotionally safe.

And still, I found myself trying to justify it.
Telling myself you’re a good man going through a hard time.
Telling myself that if I keep showing up, maybe you’ll see me.
Maybe you’ll finally choose me.

And maybe you do care about me, in your own way.

But loving you taught me what I deserve—and what I can’t keep accepting.

Because I don’t want to be in another almost relationship.
I don’t want to keep pouring into connections that leave me feeling empty.
I don’t want potential. I want a partnership.

And if I’m being really honest… I think part of me wanted to be chosen by you because of what it would mean about me. That I’m good enough. Worthy enough. The one you wanted to settle down with.
And maybe that’s actually less about you, and more about a version of me who’s still healing from past disappointments. Maybe it was never just about us—maybe it was about the validation I hoped loving you or being loved by you would bring.

I won’t pretend it’s easy. I still think about you more than I want to admit. And letting go of the hope I had for us feels heavier than I thought it would. But I’m learning that sometimes, hope can hurt more than the heartbreak itself—because it keeps us tied to what could be instead of honoring what actually is.

So I’m pulling back. Not out of anger, not out of pettiness, not even out of revenge.

I’m pulling back because I can’t keep waiting to be chosen by someone else. I’m choosing me.

I won’t chase you for clarity.
I won’t prove I’m worthy of commitment.
I won’t keep playing the role of a woman you haven’t asked to show up for.

This is my soft goodbye. A silent realignment.
No drama. No grand finale. Just distance—and dignity.

Maybe you’ll never fully understand what you had in me. But I do.
And I refuse to betray that again.

—De’Ja

If you’ve ever found yourself caring deeply for someone who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—meet you where you are, know that you’re not alone.
Letting go doesn’t always come with a big goodbye. Sometimes, it comes with a quiet return to self.
This letter was mine. Maybe it’s yours too.