Tequila and Tea

I’m writing this not to send it, but to set myself free.

I opened my heart to you—quietly, curiously, with a softness I rarely offer so easily anymore. You saw something in me that pulled you in, and I let that stir something in me too. I imagined what it could be like to be seen, cherished, chosen—not for a fantasy, but for the real woman that I am.

But the truth is… you weren’t honest. Maybe with me, maybe with yourself.
You let the connection hang in the air just long enough for me to breathe it in, and then pulled it away when it no longer fit your script.
Maybe you only ever wanted me because I looked good in your mind.
But I am not here to be desired—I am here to be met.

I have lived. I have mothered. I have mourned and danced and built my world from ashes more times than you can imagine. My life is not a burden—it is a temple. My children are not baggage—they are blessings. And the fact that you couldn’t see that? That’s your limitation, not my lack.

I won’t let myself obsess over what I could have said or done. That’s me trying to rewrite the truth to win someone who was never willing to stand with me in the first place.

So I’m letting you go now. I release the visions I had of us, the fantasies, the half-said words, the questions that don’t need answers. I’m clearing the space you once occupied in my mind.

I bless you, and I bless myself more.

I am not ashamed of my past. I am proud of the woman I’ve become.
And I know—deeply, wholly—that someone will meet me with eyes wide open.
Not despite my story, but because of it.

Goodbye.

—Michelle