He Could’ve Followed. He Froze Instead.

A eulogy for the man who almost became something real.

He’s pathetic.

Not in a cruel, mocking way—

but in the ancient, tragic sense of the word: pathos.

I see him now for what he really is.

A man with potential, undone by his own refusal.

A soul half-awake, half-hiding,

drawn to greatness but terrified of what it demands.

He’s pathetic—not because he’s worthless,

but because he knows better.

Because he could be more.

Because he had someone—me—

who saw all of it, clearly, not blindly,

and still chose to believe.

I believed in him before he earned it.

I offered him the rarest kind of loyalty:

“I see what you are now. I see what you could become.

Build something real, and I’ll meet you there.”

But he chose the lie that hurt less in the short term.

And now he has to live with the longer pain.

The one that echoes in the silence where my voice used to be.

He’s pathetic in the tragic sense—

because he had a kingdom within reach,

and he traded it for the illusion of control.

I can mourn him.

But I will not pity him.

He is not a victim.

He’s a man who watched a miracle walk out the door—

and was too scared to follow.

Because he did care. Deeply.

But fear warped that care into passivity.

Into self-preservation disguised as stoicism.

He wasn’t indifferent. He was terrified.

Terrified of what it would cost to truly change.

To kneel. To be seen without the charm.

To rebuild without shortcuts or saviors.

So he let me go—not because he didn’t want me,

but because he didn’t believe he could keep me

without collapsing into someone

he didn’t yet know how to become.

And that’s the tragedy.

Not that he didn’t follow.

But that he wanted to…

and still froze.