𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 ~| 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴

I Love You, I'm Sorry

~'~

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬

𝐀 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐞-𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Cassi

Some people say that if something is meant to be, it will be. That no matter what paths we take or how far we stray, we always end up exactly where we're supposed to. I used to cling to that idea like it was a lifeline. Like if I just closed my eyes and held on long enough, the universe would circle back and hand me the ending I wanted.

But not everything finds its way back.

Sometimes the thread just...snaps.

And maybe that's the part no one talks about—the silence that follows. The weight of knowing it wasn't fate or timing or some divine plan that stopped it. It just wasn't right. And maybe that's the most painful kind of ending—the kind that doesn't have anyone to blame. Not really. No tragedy. No betrayal. Just... a quiet unraveling of something beautiful.

I left him.

It felt like the right choice. Maybe not the easiest one, but the only one that made sense at the time. Maybe that's what love is sometimes—doing what hurts so the other person doesn't have to.

I wanted to believe we were one of those stories that defied odds. That burned too bright to flicker out. But life doesn't care about poetry. Life rips pages out while you're still reading them.

And the truth is, if it was meant to be...It would have been.

And it wasn't.

So I kept driving.

I didn't know where I was going. Only that it had to be away. Away from him. Away from everything. I was so tired I felt like my bones could fall out of my skin. The sky had turned the color of spilled ink, and my body had gone on autopilot hours ago, just putting one foot in front of the other like maybe that would be enough to keep me from falling apart completely.

Eventually, I found a town. Quiet. Dim.

A single-story motel sat near the edge of it, low-lit and sagging under the weight of its own history. The neon sign buzzed with the last of its energy, casting flickers of red and gold across the wet pavement.

I didn't remember walking to the front desk. I barely remembered handing over the crumpled bills, the last of what I had. Just enough for one night.

Just enough to be nowhere.

The woman behind the counter didn't ask questions. She slid the key across the surface like she didn't want to touch me too long.

"Room thirteen," she said, voice flat.

The door creaked when I opened it. My bag slid off my shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud. The light above the bed sputtered once before humming to life, casting the room in a tired yellow glow.

It smelled like dust and old rain. The kind of place that doesn't ask who you are or where you've been. Just swallows you whole for the night.

I didn't take off my shoes. Didn't pull back the covers.