April 21, 2025

By Maya Harrington

I already know how this story ends. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach every time we talk, every time I get close to you. But I can’t stop. I can’t pull away. Something inside me is so drawn to you, so desperate for whatever moments we get, that the end is almost comforting in a strange way. Maybe I just need to hold on for as long as I can. Maybe the pain, the heartache, is worth it if I get to have even the smallest piece of you for a little while longer.

Everyone around me can see it. My friends, my family—they all see how bad it is. They warn me, they tell me to walk away, to leave you before you leave me broken. But I can’t. Because as much as they tell me to let go, I don’t want to. I want to keep pushing forward, even if I know it’s a lost cause. Even if I know that in the end, I’ll be the one standing there, wondering why I let it happen.

You’ve hurt me so many times before, and I don’t even count it anymore. I don’t care about the empty promises or the lies. I don’t care about the cold moments when you shut me out. I just care about what’s here, right now. I want to take what I can while I can, even if it means walking into a storm, even if it means facing the wreckage you’ll leave behind.

I’ve learned how to heal before. I know what it’s like to pick myself up off the floor and pretend like nothing ever happened. I’ve done it enough times to know that eventually, the hurt fades. It always does. Time moves on, and the scars become less noticeable. But for now, all I want is this. I want to be with you, even if it breaks me.

The truth is, I don’t even mind. I don’t mind the pain because, somehow, it feels like I’m living. I don’t care how many times I have to learn to heal, I just want this moment. I want to hold on to you, even if I know you’re slipping through my fingers. Because at least when I’m with you, I’m alive. And that’s enough for me.

So ruin me. Do whatever you want. I’ll take it, and I’ll heal. I always do.