I’ve mastered the art of leaving before I’m left. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s something I do damn well.
People tell me I’m guarded. Cold, even. But I don’t think they understand—I’m not cold, I’m cautious. I’ve just read this chapter before, and I know how it ends. So instead of waiting for the heartbreak, the confusion, the “what did I do wrong?” spiral, I pack up early. Quietly. Casually. I slip out of people’s lives like I was never fully there to begin with.
Because I wasn’t.
I’ve trained myself to give half-effort from the start. Just enough to keep it alive, not enough to get too close. That way, when the goodbye comes—and it always does—I can pretend it doesn’t sting. I can tell myself I didn’t lose much because I never really had much. Not fully. Not deeply.
I tell myself it’s easier that way. Safer. Cleaner.
But the truth is, I want love just as much as the next person. I want connection. Real, raw, unshakeable connection. But I’m scared of it. Scared of how good it might feel… and how fast it could disappear. Because when something feels too good to be true, in my world—it usually is. So I sabotage. I create distance. I pick fights. I get cold. I pull away. I make it so hard to love me that people don’t even try.
That way, I get to control the ending. I get to say goodbye first.
I know I’ve broken hearts. I know I’ve confused people who genuinely cared. I’ve left some of the best people I’ve ever known standing in emotional quicksand, wondering what the hell they did wrong—when the truth is, they did nothing. They just got too close.
That’s my pattern. My defense. My curse.
And now… I feel myself doing it again. Pulling away. Shutting down. Pretending not to care when deep down, I care more than I’d ever admit out loud. I feel the walls going up before anyone even knocks. Because the truth is, if I let someone in—even just a little—I might start to hope again. And hope is dangerous when you’ve lived through enough disappointment to know better.
So I don’t let myself get too attached. I don’t give them all of me. I keep things surface-level. Manageable. Temporary.
Because if I keep my distance, then your absence won’t wreck me.
And if I never get too close, then I’ll never have to recover from you walking away.
So I stay safe. I stay in control. I stay good at goodbyes.
But sometimes, in the quiet moments, I wonder if I’m protecting myself from heartbreak…
Or just denying myself the chance to really be loved.
Maybe one day I’ll figure it out.
Maybe.
But for now… this is easier.
