confusedfrogggo

[confusedfrogggo]

Make Room for the Good Things

The real plot twist of La La Land? The ending wasn’t tragic. It was realistic. And that’s what makes it hurt. It’s not a story of heartbreak, but of growth. Of purpose. Of timing. Of letting go without bitterness.

At some point in your healing, you stop looking at it as “right person, wrong time,” and start seeing it for what it was: the right encounter for the exact lesson you needed. You were meant to cross paths. It wasn’t random. They didn’t show up just to leave you gutted they showed up to crack you open, to show you the mirror, to wake something in you that would’ve stayed dormant otherwise.

Seb helped Mia chase her dreams and Mia gave Seb the courage to believe in his own. They didn’t end up together because they were never supposed to. They were each other’s turning point not the destination. And that’s not sad. That’s powerful. Because it means love served its purpose.

And that’s the paradox of great love it burns bright but not always long. Some people enter like wildfires tearing through transforming you. You grieve their absence like a death but leave with a self that never existed before. He didn’t stay but he cracked you open in ways no one else dared to. You didn’t stay but you reminded him of the light he forgot he carried.
That was love. It just wasn’t the forever kind.

We spend so much time clinging. Wishing we could go back. Replaying every soft moment in the hopes of rewinding time. But it was never supposed to last. And maybe that's okay. Maybe the fact that it ended is why it changed you. You were meant to leave the old version of yourself behind with them. And you did.

Now it’s time to make room.

You’ve cried enough. You’ve overanalyzed it enough. You’ve checked their social media enough. You’ve read the screenshots enough. You’ve suffered enough. You’ve punished yourself with “what ifs” enough. You’re not going to get closure from them, you already got it from life. The ending happened. You just need to stop rereading the final chapter.

You won't always feel this way.

One day, you’ll forget the weight of their name in your mouth. The shape of their absence. You’ll forget how deeply you felt, because time will sand it down until it becomes something you can hold without shaking. You’ll reach their level of detachment not because you stopped caring, but because you started living again. That’s the part nobody tells you: detachment isn’t always cold. Sometimes, it’s warm. Peaceful. Freeing.

You won’t always be here, staring at old memories like they’re still happening. You won’t always ache at the thought of them being fine while you’re still breaking. There will be a day you laugh so hard your ribs hurt and realize you haven’t thought about them in weeks. There will be someone else. There will be a new city, a new playlist, a new dream that has nothing to do with them.

And that’s when you’ll know:
The story wasn’t about them.
It was about you.

You grew. You healed. You became.
And you’re still becoming.

So make room.
Make space.
Something good is on its way.

[confusedfrogggo]

We Cracked Each Other Open and Walked Away Bleeding

There were signs everywhere—angel numbers, perfect timing, too many coincidences to call coincidence. Even the universe seemed to be rooting for us. For a while, it felt like we were handpicked for each other. And when things align that easily, you don’t question it. You just fall.

We fell fast, deep, hard. The kind of connection that doesn’t just excite you—it terrifies you. Because maybe, just maybe, life was always leading up to this person. And when things started to unravel, I held on tighter. Thinking, “No, this can’t be it. This was meant. This was fated.”

But the same universe that brought us together slowly pulled us apart. Through distance. Through silence. Through missed chances and swallowed words. Everything felt destined, only to slip away. No matter how tightly I clung, it was like something bigger was trying to pull us loose. And I did cling. I held on even when I knew I was the only one holding.

We were two people who met at the wrong time. Maybe we were never meant for the right time either. He triggered my deepest emotional needs; I triggered his fears around intimacy and control. I needed nurturing; he needed space. I said what I felt; he shut down. We loved each other—but in incompatible ways.

Our Mars square Venus tension—every fight was passion. Every silence, punishment. Chaotic. Magnetic. Destructive. And yet, I loved him. But he gave up. He didn’t fight for me. He let me carry the weight of us while he drifted.

We were catalysts, not companions. We weren’t meant to stay; we were meant to wake each other up, to expose parts we didn’t know existed. He made me realize how deeply I could feel. How badly I wanted emotional reciprocity. I made him face his avoidant patterns, his buried grief. But we didn’t heal together. We just cracked each other open and walked away bleeding.

It still hurts. To know someone could look into your soul and still walk away. Meanwhile, he’s living, moving on, like it was nothing. Like I was just another moment in a timeline he’ll never revisit.

And that’s the hardest part. How small it was for him. How big it still feels for me. Because the day I lost him, my world cracked open. For him? It was just Thursday.

Maybe that’s just love. It’s a gamble. You never know if they’ll feel the same depth or if someone will fall out of love first. We met, connected perfectly, beautifully, like something out of a movie. But in the end, I stayed. And he didn’t.

Sometimes love doesn’t match up. Sometimes it’s not mutual, no matter how badly you want it to be. And maybe that’s okay, too. Maybe it was never meant to last.

That’s the risk with love. You’re all in… or you’re just the one who falls.