Surviving Heartbreak

Death Sentence

My love for him was a death sentence,
one I willingly signed,
knowing the pain it would bring
if he ever left.
But I stared death in the eye
and bet my life he never would.

I made a quiet promise to myself,
a promise no one knew but me,
to always be there for him.
My mistake was believing he did too.
After all, he chose me out of 8 billion,
and I chose him just the same.
But the truth hit like a knife—
he wasn't my one,
and I wasn't his.

And when he left,
I took that signed paper,
that promise of my own undoing,
and I killed the version of me he loved.
The girl he met, the one he knew—
gone.
I killed her because she couldn't survive
without him.
But don't mistake this for triumph.
This version of me still loves him,
though she'll never go back.
I can't gamble my life again,
hoping he'd stay this time.

The death sentence
was never loving him;
it was never knowing
how to love myself.
When he left,
I wanted to hate him—
oh, how I wanted to hate him.
But hate is a love reversed,
and I could never hate the one
who taught me what I deserved.

His leaving was what I needed
to find myself.
A death sentence, yes—
but one that led to rebirth.
And now, I stand,
not just surviving
but rising,
unshakable,
and full of self-love
for the first time.

He lives, he thrives,
and so do I.
He is no longer my whole book,
though he remains my favorite chapter,
etched into my soul,
a story I can close
but never forget.

—MistakenGenius