At first,
I wasn't afraid of you—
I saw the storms behind your eyes,
the shadows of old battles,
the danger that clung to you
like a second skin.
But I never knew why.
I fell in love,
and out,
with every lie you told—
each one a stone
in the wall between us.
Sometimes I wondered
if you believed them, too.
I gave up so easily
when it came to you,
shouldering the burden of heartbreak
like it was my inheritance.
I fought for you because I loved you,
because I wanted you—
but now,
now I'm not so certain.
Loving myself
means more to me now
than pouring all my light
into someone who only reflects shadows.
If I knew then
what I know now,
I'm not sure
I would've sent that first message.
Don't get me wrong—
there were moments of joy,
but the negatives outnumbered them.
You wear your childhood trauma
as both mask and shield,
an armor against the world.
But you're grown now—
you have the choice
to heal,
to change,
to be more than what you were shown.
Yet you cower from life,
paralyzed by what could be,
doing nothing at all.
I love you,
but love alone
isn't enough.
I wear my heart on my sleeve,
keep gassing you up,
hoping the love I pour
will fill your cracks.
I keep finding projects,
making people better
for the next person—
I thought you were different.
But love is blinding.
You lied from the start,
and I forgave,
built our foundation
on sand,
without reinforcements.
Now, I can only blame myself—
your flags were red
from the very beginning.
And so,
I throw in the towel—
not out of weakness,
but out of strength—
choosing, finally,
myself
