Chaos Within

Broken Promises

He was a man of few words, but a poet who made promises spun from silver, wrapping them around my heart like a gossamer thread. He knew just what to say, always at the right moment, as if he could read the bruises on my soul and whisper healing. He painted our future with broad strokes, full of bright colours and endless skies, and I believed him. Every time.

"I’ll never leave you," he'd say, and I let those words settle deep within me, like roots settling into the earth. "You’re the only one," he vowed, and I let that become my truth, allowing myself to fall into his promises as if they were a safe harbour from the storms of doubt.

But promises, I learned, can shatter as easily as glass, leaving behind sharp edges that cut deeper than silence. He would break my heart in whispers, the same way he once mended it. Slowly, quietly, until the words I once held close became hollow, echoes of a love I no longer recognised.

I stayed through the lies, through the betrayals that came cloaked in sweet apologies. Every time he tore me apart, he built me back up again with those same words—words that once held meaning, now only serving to keep me tethered to the pain. My trust fell like crumbling walls, piece by piece, until I was left with nothing but the ashes of everything I had believed.

And yet, somehow, I couldn’t leave. I held on to the hope that love might return, that maybe this time, his words would match his actions. But in the end, it was faith that hurt the most—faith that he would change, faith that love could survive the breaking, faith that the man I loved was the man he promised he’d be.

He taught me the difference between words and truth, between hope and illusion. Now, I carry the weight of promises never kept, learning to trust the silence where once his voice lingered. And though my heart is shattered, I’m beginning to see the strength in walking away from a man who never deserved my love at all.