Today I let the Golden Boy go.
Not because I stopped loving him. I don't think I ever will.
I let him go because loving someone shouldn't mean living inside their silence. He knows what silence does to me. I've told him. More than once. Yet somehow it's become the only language we speak.
The strange part is he was hurt when he found out there was a Blue.
We weren't together.
He'd lived his life, met other girls, laughed with other people, while I was still carrying the weight of us. Yet somehow my heart moving, even just a little, hurt him.
Blue wasn't the Golden Boy.
He never tried to be.
He simply found the empty places and sat with me in them. He sent me sunrises, kept his promises, and reminded me what it felt like to feel safe. For a little while, the ache wasn't so loud.
Now Blue has drifted on too, and the space inside me is quiet again.
But it's a different kind of quiet.
It's no longer waiting.
It's hope.
If the Golden Boy ever comes back, I hope it's because he chose me, not because he was afraid of losing me.
And if he never does...
Then I'll know I loved him enough to set him free, even when it broke my own heart.
