I want to tell you a long story about my heart. I want you to know why I say I realized I can’t control her, so I started watching her and taking care of my heart. It’s not something I just said one day because it sounded nice. It came from years of pain, learning, crying at night, and understanding what love really means.
Because once, I was a fool for love. I was someone who thought that if you loved someone enough, they would love you exactly the same way. I believed that love was about giving everything, holding on tight, making sure they never left. I was the kind of person who would call and text a hundred times if I didn’t get an answer. I would plan every detail of our time together. I wanted to know where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. I thought if I could know everything, I could keep her close forever.
But love doesn’t work like that. You can’t hold someone in your hand and squeeze them so they never leave. They will slip through your fingers eventually. And if you grip too hard, you will hurt them. I didn’t know that. I thought love was about control, about making sure nothing bad ever happened.
I met her on a warm afternoon. The sun was bright, the city was alive, and I was lonely. She smiled at me in a way that made my heart do something I hadn’t felt in years. It was like being seen for the first time. We talked about silly things. Music. Movies. Dreams. I remember thinking she was magic. I told myself I would do anything to keep her.
In the beginning, it was perfect. Or it felt perfect. We laughed. We stayed up all night talking. We kissed in quiet places where no one could see. We told each other secrets. I told her about my fears, my hopes, the things I was ashamed of. She told me about the pain in her past. We promised we would be good to each other.
But soon, I started to get scared. I would see her laugh with someone else and feel a sharp pain in my chest. I would see her phone light up with messages from friends and wonder who it was. I would ask questions. Too many questions. Where were you? Who was there? What did you talk about?
She would answer, at first. Patiently. Kindly. But after a while, she would get annoyed. Why don’t you trust me? Why do you ask so much? Don’t you believe me? I would say I just cared. I just wanted to know. I wanted to keep her safe. But what I really meant was I wanted to keep her mine.
I thought love was about claiming someone. About making sure they didn’t leave. I didn’t want to lose her. I told myself I was protecting her. But the truth was I was protecting myself—from the pain of being left behind.
We started to fight. Small fights at first. Then big ones. She would shout. I would shout. We would say things we didn’t mean. Or maybe we did mean them. I don’t know. I remember one night, we stood in the street screaming at each other. People stared. I didn’t care. I just wanted her to say she loved me.
She cried that night. She told me she couldn’t do it anymore. She said she felt trapped. Like I was watching her all the time. Like she couldn’t breathe. I told her I just loved her too much. She shook her head and said that wasn’t love.
She left me for a while. I was destroyed. I stayed in my room. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I just stared at the ceiling and thought about her. I remembered every word she ever said. I replayed every moment, wondering what I did wrong.
Eventually, we talked again. I begged her to come back. I promised I would change. She agreed to try again. I was so happy. I told myself this time would be different. But it wasn’t. Because I didn’t change. Not really. I was good for a while. I held back my questions. I smiled when she went out with friends. But inside, I was boiling. I wanted to know everything again. I was scared all the time. Scared she would meet someone else. Scared she would realize I wasn’t enough.
So I started watching her again. Quietly. I would check her social media. I would ask mutual friends what she was doing. I would find little ways to keep track of her. I thought I was being clever. But she felt it. She always knew. One day, she sat me down and told me she couldn’t do it anymore. For real this time. She was crying, but she was firm. She said she loved me, but she couldn’t live like that. She said she felt like she was always being watched. Judged. Controlled. She said she needed freedom. She needed space. She needed to be herself.
I remember feeling like the ground disappeared under my feet. I begged. I cried. I held her hands so tightly. But she pulled away. She left. After that, I was a mess. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk. I hated myself. I called her sometimes, but she didn’t answer. I sent long messages, telling her I was sorry, that I loved her, that I couldn’t live without her. She didn’t reply.
It took me months to start healing. I would sit in the dark and think about all the ways I hurt her without realizing it. I thought I was loving her, but really I was trying to own her. I thought I was protecting her, but really I was protecting myself from fear. One day I woke up and realized I couldn’t control her. I couldn’t make her stay. I couldn’t make her love me the way I wanted. I couldn’t hold her in a cage and call it love. That was the moment everything changed.
I started thinking about what real love meant. I thought about how you can’t force someone to be yours. You can’t make them choose you every day. They have to want to. Love has to be free. I realized if you love someone, you have to let them be themselves. You have to let them make their own choices. You can’t be watching them like a guard, waiting for them to mess up. That’s not love. That’s fear. That’s control.
So I changed. Slowly. Painfully. I started watching her in a different way. Not with suspicion. Not with control. But with care. From a distance. I watched her live her life. I watched her smile again. I watched her find her peace. I didn’t interfere. I didn’t demand anything. And I started taking care of my heart. Because my heart was broken. My heart was tired. My heart needed healing. I stopped chasing. I stopped begging. I stopped trying to make her come back. I told myself I would be okay, even if she never did.
I went for long walks alone. I listened to music that made me cry. I wrote down my feelings in messy notebooks. I talked to friends. I went to therapy. I admitted to myself that I had been wrong. It hurt so much. Admitting that you were the one who ruined something beautiful is a special kind of pain. But I knew I had to do it. I had to be honest if I wanted to get better.
I learned to love myself. Not in a selfish, arrogant way. But in a gentle way. I told myself I was worthy of love even if she didn’t love me back. I reminded myself I was enough, even if I was alone. I watched her live. I watched her move on. I watched her be happy. And yes, it hurt sometimes. But I also felt happy for her. Because she deserved it. She deserved freedom. She deserved joy. And I deserved peace.
Now, when I say I realized I can’t control her, so I started watching her and taking care of my heart, it’s not just words. It’s my truth. It’s my promise to myself. I will never try to hold someone too tightly again. I will never try to own someone. I will never mistake control for love. If I love someone again, I will let them be free. I will watch them with care, not with suspicion. I will trust them. And if they choose me, I will be grateful. If they don’t, I will let them go. And I will always take care of my heart.
Because my heart is precious. My heart has been through so much. It deserves kindness. It deserves respect. I hope one day she knows this. I hope she knows I am sorry. I hope she knows I loved her in the best way I knew how at the time, even if it wasn’t good enough. I hope she knows I let her go because I loved her enough to want her happy—even if that happiness didn’t include me.
I don’t know if she thinks of me. Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she hates me. Maybe she forgave me. I’ll never know But I think of her sometimes. Not with anger. Not with regret. But with a gentle sadness. A kind of gratitude. Because she taught me something I couldn’t have learned any other way
