Dai Owens

You didn’t want to hear what lived inside me, and that’s why I couldn’t keep waiting. You never understood what I was reaching for— I wanted to take you far from here, somewhere we’d never have to leave again. I heard the whispers instead: that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t be the one to make you happy. So I left proof of myself behind— not to trap you, not to make you stay, but so you’d remember I was still here, that running was never the only choice. One day, when you hear it, you’ll know nothing was wasted. Every word, every silence, every try was done for you. Everything I became, everything I risked, every moment I let happen— it was all for you. For you. @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Pra Você) #Dai's prepective I remember standing in the doorway while they faced the window, the city washing their reflection into glass. “Say something,” I told them. “Anything.” They didn’t turn around. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “I want you to hear me.” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “Just—listen.” They sighed, like listening was heavier than leaving. “You always think things are deeper than they are.” I swallowed. “I wanted to take you away from here. Not on a trip. Away. Somewhere we could start over.” They laughed softly, not cruel—just distant. “You don’t even know if I’d be happy with you.” Later, I heard the words from someone else, not them. They’re nice, but not enough. They don’t really fit. They couldn’t make them happy. When I saw them again, I tried one last time. “I’m still here,” I said. “You don’t have to run.” They looked at me then, really looked, like they were memorizing my face instead of choosing it. “I don’t know how to stay.” So I let go. Not all at once. Slowly. Like loosening a grip you’ve held too long. Time passed. Distance grew quieter than I expected.