It was real, even though it ended.

When love ends, there's a temptation to rewrite it. Maybe it was never real. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was all a waste.

But endings don't erase what was true. The laughter was real. The comfort was real. You really were happy, for a while.

A sandcastle isn't a failure because the tide comes. It was built, it stood, it was beautiful for the time it had.

You can grieve the ending without denying the story. It was real. That's exactly why it hurts.