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Read more "to my best friend" here rmdrake.com

There are days when love feels far away, like a lighthouse you can see but never touch. Still, you keep sailing, drawn by the hope that someone will light a lamp for you, too. We are all navigating toward warmth.

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You were the lesson I kept repeating until I finally learned it wasn’t my fault you never stayed. Sometimes, loving hard is not enough for someone who doesn’t know how to be caught. I am done being a net for hearts that only know how to run.

Not all grief is loud. Sometimes it looks like eating alone, or texting no one, or deleting photos you swore you’d keep forever. Sometimes, grief just looks like surviving.

I searched for meaning in other people’s eyes. Tried to stitch identity from the way they held me, needed me, left me. But the truth is: nothing outside can tell you who you are. You must sit with your own emptiness and listen.

There is no glory in self-abandonment. There is no beauty in becoming smaller so someone else can feel bigger. If love costs you yourself—it’s not love. It’s a wound.

You never apologized. And I stopped needing one the day I realized I deserved more than an apology—I deserved honesty. And you never had that to give.

I have learned that closure is a myth people chase so they don’t have to sit with pain. Some wounds just become part of the scenery.

There is a grief in watching someone forget how to love you. It is not loud. It is slow, like erosion.

There’s a difference between moving on and pretending you’re fine. One of them costs you your voice.

I have survived every version of heartbreak. I have stitched myself together so many times the seams glow. My survival is not an invitation for someone else to undo me. I am not waiting to be saved—I am becoming my own rescue.

You said I changed. I did. I stopped accepting crumbs when I deserved the whole table.

You wanted me broken so you could be the one who held the pieces. But I learned how to put myself back together without bleeding on your hands.

You taught me the hardest lesson of all: sometimes the people you’d do anything for wouldn’t do the bare minimum for you.