You know I’ve said “I want to break up” before.
More than once. More than I’m proud of.
And I know that every time it came out of my mouth it must have hurt you, confused you, maybe even pushed you to the edge of walking away for real.

But I need you to know something now, from the deepest, rawest place inside me:
It was never because I stopped loving you.
It was because I loved you so much I needed to be sure, desperately, irrationally, painfully sure, that you wouldn’t leave.
That if I lit everything on fire, you’d still stand in the smoke and say,
“I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s what it’s like sometimes, with a brain like mine.
Loving someone feels like drowning next to them and begging them to notice.
It’s not fair.
It’s not healthy.
But it’s real.

When you stayed… you made me feel safe.
When you came back… I believed I was lovable.
And I should never have put you in the position of proving that over and over again just to calm the chaos in my chest.
I hate that I made love into a game of survival.
That I made you my lifeline, and then pulled on it too tight.

But when January came, and I really walked away, it wasn’t like the other times.
It wasn’t to test you.
It wasn’t to see if you’d chase me.

It was because I wanted to protect you from having to choose between me and your family again.
And I wanted to protect myself from watching you hesitate.

I told myself, “Be the bigger person. Let him go. Don’t make him choose.”
Because I know how much they mean to you.
I know the kind of son you are.
I know how loyal, how loving, how forgiving your heart is.
And the last thing I wanted to be, as someone who knows what broken families feel like, was the reason yours cracked.

But the truth is…
Part of me also wanted you to choose me anyway.
Even just once.
Even if it was messy.
Even if it was quiet.
Even if it cost something.
Not because your family didn’t matter, but because I needed to know I still did.

But I didn’t say that.
Instead, I made it sound like it didn’t matter at all.
“It’s fine. I’m not dating your family.”
“I don’t care what they think.”

But I did.
Not because I needed their approval, God, I never did.
But because I was afraid of what their disapproval might plant in you.
Afraid that one day you’d look at me differently,
and not even know why.

And the saddest part?
I should’ve known better.
Because even when I was chaotic, cruel, impulsive, you saw me.
Even when you were exhausted, frustrated, hurting, you still came back.

You never stopped seeing me.
You just stopped knowing how to hold what you saw.

And I don’t blame you.

Now I carry this choice, walking away, not like regret exactly, but like a bruise.
Something I press on sometimes just to remember that I did it for love.
Not to test you.
Not to punish you.
But because I thought letting go would protect us both.

But if I could do it again,
I think I would’ve just said:
“Please don’t make me fight for your love and your family at the same time. I can’t win that war. I just want to know I’m not disposable.”

I wish I had said that.
But instead, I said goodbye.

—Xinlin