No Retreat. No Surrender.

It wasn’t loud.

No fireworks, no dramatic moment.

Just me, sitting there in a dim room, drink in hand, silence in my chest, saying to myself. I’m not done.

I’ve lost a lot of battles. Some I barely showed up for.

Others I gave everything to and still walked away bleeding.

But I’ve never taken my eyes off the war.

She once told me there was something about the way I spoke, that my words found their way into her head before they ever reached her skin.

Said it felt like fire. Something primal. Something sacred.

I didn’t forget that.

I don’t think I ever could.

She said being with me made her feel safe. Like I saw parts of her no one else bothered to look for. That even my silence, my art, the way I framed the world, it all made her feel known.

Like she was finally somewhere she didn’t have to prove herself. And for a moment, maybe she was.

But I hurt her. Not intentionally.

Still… that’s not always the point. She said I made her feel beautiful, like the most confident, radiant version of herself, and when that feeling disappeared, so did a piece of her.

I never meant to break her.

Hell, I thought I was the safe place. But love doesn’t come with manuals. Just damage.

People say to move on.

That peace comes with letting go.

But I don’t want peace if it means forgetting what it felt like to love her.

No retreat.

No surrender.

Not even now.

Not even after all of it.

I’m still here.

For the girl who made me believe in something real.