There was a version of me who waited.
Waited for replies.
Waited for clarity.
Waited for someone to suddenly decide I was worth choosing without hesitation.

She thought patience was maturity.
She thought silence meant depth.
She thought if she stayed kind enough, quiet enough, understanding enough things would eventually work themselves out.

They didn’t.

What actually happened was simpler:
I grew up.

I stopped romanticizing inconsistency.
I stopped translating mixed signals like they were poetry.
I stopped calling bare minimum effort “potential.”

Here’s the thing no one warns you about:
When you finally see clearly, you don’t feel dramatic you feel calm.

No confrontation.
No long paragraph.
No final scene.

Just a quiet unsubscribe.

Cancelled doesn’t always mean angry.
Sometimes it just means informed.

It means realizing that access to you is earned through effort, not assumed through familiarity. It means understanding that chemistry without respect is just chaos in better lighting. It means knowing that if someone wanted to show up differently, they already would have.

I didn’t cancel them because I hated them.
I cancelled them because I like myself.

Because peace stopped feeling lonely.
Because I don’t chase what doesn’t choose me.
Because I learned that walking away can be an act of self-respect, not failure.

So no, there’s no bad blood.
No revenge arc.
No dramatic ending credits.

Just a closed chapter and a lighter heart.

Cancelled
and honestly, it feels like growth.