So this been weighing on me. I don’t really do this whole internet talk-your-feelings-out thing, but lately I been thinking.

I grew up in a warzone. Streets don’t got rules, just codes. You break one, you pay for it. That’s how we live. That’s how I survived.

There was this shorty from the other side. Young, wild, and known. She wasn’t just talking tough—she was really out here. She did something that hit close. Took one of my people. Somebody I looked up to, somebody I loved. One of the real ones from my side. He ain’t even get to see 20. And everybody knew it was her. She wore it like a badge.

But here’s the twist: me and her used to talk. DMs, tweets, whatever. I ain’t even gon lie—we flirted. Talked real stuff too. Sometimes it felt like we were both trying to figure out if there was more to life than just all this death. Like maybe we saw through each other’s masks.

Still… I couldn’t let that slide. That pain in my chest every time I saw a mural of my homie, every time his name got brought up? That didn’t go away. So when the time came… I handled it. No talking. No second guessing. I did what I thought was right by the code. By my people. By him.

But now, sitting with it… I keep thinking. Was I too far gone? Was I the asshole for not sparing someone just ‘cause there was a human connection there—even though she never spared mine?

I know what people gon say. “That’s just the streets.” But sometimes I wonder if that’s just an excuse.

So yeah… AITA?