I don't wonder about your indifference.

The sun spills gold over the meadow. A bunny stands in the warmth of the day, paws wrapped around a heart still warm, still beating. She has carried it for too long, pressed it into the arms of a bear who never held it right, never knew the weight of it. He sits beneath the great tree, lost among its branches, where the faces of women bloom like fruit, where the voices he chose over hers hum in the quiet air she can never reach.

The tree stands tall, its roots entwined with the present, its branches reaching out to claim what the bunny leaves behind. Faces flutter in the branches, soft, familiar, but never hers. The bunny watches, heart aching, not with bitterness, but with the gentle sorrow of something released, something let go.

She doesn’t beg for space among them today.

Instead, she lifts her face to the sun, heart steady in her paws. “If love moves through me,” she whispers, “let it not stay in places where it is unwanted. Let it flow freely, but not to places where it isn’t seen. Do not condemn me.”

The sun hums softly, wrapping around her.

“You are not diminished,” the sun says, its light brightening. “The love you give is still yours. Take a step back, little one, and let it find its own way.”

The bunny feels the weight of the words, but there is no sting. Instead, there’s relief, a deep exhale she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Why do I give so much?” she asks softly, her eyes tracing the branches of the tree, where faces of others sway gently in the wind. “Why do I keep trying to fill a space that seems to be a black hole?”

The sun’s warmth deepens, its light glowing brighter. “Because you love freely, without expectation. And that love is meant to be pure. But sometimes, it’s not about holding on, it’s about letting go, and trusting that love will find its own way to those who can carry it.”

The bunny nods slowly, her paws tightening around the heart she holds.

“I never asked for it to be this way,” she murmurs, voice barely above a breath. “But if my love can still reach him, even from here… if he can still feel it, then maybe that’s enough.”

The sun’s warmth bathes her, soft but insistent.

“It’s always been enough. Love does not demand to be returned in the way it is given, it simply exists, and in its existence, it transforms. Let it live in the space you create for it.”

The bunny’s heart stirs, an understanding settling in her chest. She looks back at the tree, at the faces caught in its branches, still fluttering, but they’re not hers. Not anymore. There’s nothing she can do about what is already in the tree, what has already bloomed in its time.

She takes another step back, and for the first time, the space between them doesn’t feel like absence. It feels like freedom. She doesn’t have to force her love into a place it wasn’t meant to be. She doesn’t need to fill those gaps anymore.

She no longer clings to them; she lets them go, letting the wind take them wherever they belong.

And still, she loves. Not because he needs it, but because she does. Because love does not end when it is set free.

As the sun lowers in the sky, the bunny’s heart lightens. She can still feel him in the far-off distance, but she knows now: love is not a weight she must carry for him. It is not a chain. It is the air she breathes, the light she lets in, and the space she creates.