Letting Go with Love: A Final Letter to Nkem

Dear Nkem,

I am not sure whether this will reach you... but because I respect and value you deeply, I will write this here and not send it to you directly. I do not want to cause you any pain, discomfort, or sadness.

I am so sorry for making you shrink to fit into my space, it was never my intention. 

I am sorry for not having time for you. 

I am sorry for being unavailable for you.

I am writing this letter not to re-open doors, but to finally close one — the one in my heart that has stayed ajar long after you walked away.

For a long time, I missed you. I missed our conversations, the way you challenged me intellectually, and even the familiar weight of our connection — even when it was heavy. I held onto hope that maybe one day we’d find our way back, that maybe you still thought of me the way I thought of you.

Anytime we meet, you are always quick to remind me that you have moved on with a new partner... but the last time we met, with you speaking of your new partner — something in me shifted. I realized I wasn’t missing you; I was missing the idea of you. The person I thought you could be, the future I imagined for us. Not the reality of what we were.

I won’t deny the good moments. They were real. Bittersweet memories is all I am taking with me. We both know I'm not what you need

I’ve finally reached a place where I can say:

I accept that.

I accept that you are not mine, and never will be again.

I accept that I deserve a love that doesn’t leave me feeling lonely. A peace that isn’t negotiated through silence or anger.

This letter isn’t an invitation for reply. It’s my own release.

I’m letting go of the hope and the unanswered questions.

I’m letting go of wondering if you think of me.

If I should stay, I would only be in your way; so I'll go, but I know I'll think of you every step of the way. 

Although painfully, I’m letting go of us. 

Either way, and I have told you before, I will always love you.

I hope life treats you kind; and I hope you have all you've dreamed of. I wish you joy and happiness - but above all this, I wish you love.

I wish you genuine happiness — not because I’m pretending to be noble, but because I no longer want to carry the weight of wishing otherwise.

You were a significant chapter in my story. But the book is still being written — and from here, I’m turning the page. 

With quiet closure,
Judy