What I Let Go Poem by cassidy Lovato

I don't know if you'll ever read this.
Maybe it's not even for you
maybe it's for me.
Because some truths
need to be spoken,
even if no one is listening.

Ours was the kind of friendship
that felt like home
years of laughter,
messy cries,
quiet understanding.
And then one day,
the door slowly closed,
without sound,
without warning.

You were never great at replying.
I knew that.
I gave space, I gave grace.
And after the crash,
when the world blurred for you,
I didn't ask anything in return.
I showed up.
Not just for him
but for you.

You didn't remember,
but I still came.
I still checked in.
Even when my messages
were ghosts in your inbox.

I stayed.
Even when you didn't.

But as the years drifted,
so did you.
And while I sat with silence,
you posted,
you traveled,
you celebrated,
you lived.

And I wanted that for you.
I still do.
But I couldn't help but see
I was no longer part of that life.
Not really.

I made excuses
for you, for the silence,
for the way birthdays passed
like forgotten street signs,
for the gifts unopened,
the messages unseen.
I told myself it was too hard for you.
I told myself you'd come back.

But when a child waited,
and you didn't show
when my hand reached twice,
and yours never met it
something cracked.

You liked a message.
Then sent a blessing.
And I felt the full weight
of being invisible
to someone I once called
my soul's sister.

This was never about attention.
It was about presence.
Reciprocity.
The quiet bond that says,
"I see you too."

Friendship is not a one-person dance.
And when I finally stopped moving,
so did we.

So I stepped away.
Not in anger.
But in dignity.
I let go—of timelines,
of waiting,
of holding the rope
all on my own.

I don't hate you.
I never will.
There's still love here
but it's no longer desperate.
It's free.

If you ever want to find me again,
you'll know where to begin.
But I won't call out anymore.
I've already said everything
that mattered.