Whatever Makes You Happy

Whatever makes you happy—

even if it isn’t me.

Even if my name slowly fades

from the places you once said it softly,

like it mattered.

I’ll stand back and watch you choose a life

that doesn’t include my hands,

my voice,

my late-night honesty.

I’ll pretend it doesn’t bruise

to see you light up

in a room I no longer enter.

I wanted to be the place you rested,

not the lesson you learned from.

I wanted to be the reason you stayed,

not the reason you grew brave enough to leave.

But wanting has never been the same

as being enough.

So I’ll love you in the quiet ways—

the ways that don’t ask for proof

or promises.

I’ll love you like distance loves memory:

without interruption,

without reward.

If happiness finds you somewhere else,

I won’t chase it down

and beg it to look like me.

I’ll swallow the ache,

fold it neatly into my ribs,

and call it grace.

Just know—

letting you go isn’t easy,

and it isn’t clean.

It’s choosing your peace

over my longing,

over the version of us

I carried longer than I should have.

Whatever makes you happy—

I hope it holds you gently.

I hope it sees you the way I did.

And if you ever wonder

why I disappeared so quietly,

it’s because loving you meant knowing

when to step out of the way.