Maybe we always knew.
Or maybe that’s just what people say when they want the ending
to sound inevitable instead of chosen.
There’s a relief in saying it wasn’t meant to be.
It cleans the street.
No one has to account for what was lost
if fate or circumstance can be blamed for the mess.
The spiritual world offers its own versions.
You didn’t break the pattern.
You aren’t ready yet.
You didn’t heal enough.
God closed the door.
They weren’t your person.
But I don’t always experience endings as doors.
They feel more like moments where someone stops reaching—
not because the love was false,
but because continuing required sacrificing more than it was worth.
I want to believe I had more agency than the cosmos gives me credit for.
That what ended did so because a line was drawn,
not because the universe stepped in to correct us.
Some endings happen not because something was broken,
and not because it was complete or wrong,
but because staying became too expensive.
That doesn’t make it predestined.
That doesn’t make it instructive.
It doesn’t turn grief into wisdom on contact.
Knowing—if I knew—doesn’t mean I was meant to leave sooner.
It means I stayed while I was still choosing,
and left when the choosing ran out.
I don’t want to say it happened for a reason.
I want to say it happened because people are allowed to decide
and decisions are sharp things.
Some endings don’t resolve.
They don’t teach.
They don’t elevate.
They simply remain—
proof that love can be real,
and still not be where you stay.
I write primarily to support my small business, christinaelaine.com
I am a somatic coach, writer, and curriculum creator writing about the interior life of modern relating, weekly on Medium & Substack. I also host interviews on YouTube.