A major character flaw of mine is that I find it hard—excruciatingly hard—to let people go. Especially women. And not just any woman, but those I connected with deeply. The kind that see past the noise, past the projection, straight into the raw, beating heart of me. Once I bare my soul to you, once I let you hold it—trembling and unsure—it becomes nearly impossible for me to walk away. The only exception is if you mock that vulnerability, if you insult it or become abusive. In that case, no matter how busty or well-put-together you are, I’ll walk. Certain things, for me, are non-negotiable. Why is it so hard for me to let people go? Maybe because I understand just how fickle the world is. Most people only see the surface. But every now and then, you find someone who truly sees you. And when you do, you hold tight. You fight to keep them. Because such people are rare—achingly rare. My ex was one of them. She saw me. She was kind to me in ways that still echo. Until the day I told her I missed her—and she replied with a meme. A fucking meme. I felt a thousand invisible spears go through my chest. This was someone who knew how hard it is for me to even name my feelings, let alone voice them. Someone who understood the war it takes for me to be honest with my emotions. And she reduced that outpouring to a reaction image—because she no longer felt the way she used to. It’s why I’ve come to believe that many women do not grasp the true weight of love. Not the way men do. They say it quickly, throw it around easily. But for some of us, especially men like me, that word is sacred. I hesitate to say it in new relationships because I know what it costs to mean it. I know it takes time. Depth. Fire. Patience. But maybe that’s the difference. What she said with ease, I carried like a covenant. And even now, even after the meme, even after the breakup, I still struggle to let her go. Not because I’m foolish. But because once someone’s been kind to me—genuinely kind—I remember. I remember even when it hurts.