All her sins
still clung to her skin,
like something time refused to forget.
She kept searching for redemption
in places already burned hollow,
wondering if broken things
were ever allowed to begin again.
She wanted a story
where someone would come for her,
where pain had meaning
and endings made sense.
But slowly she understood
that heroes were never real—
only stories told
to make suffering feel less alone.
And so she stopped waiting.
Not because she was healed,
but because waiting
had never changed anything at all.
If there was going to be an ending,
she would have to carry it herself—
even if it meant
learning how to survive
with hands that could no longer stay clean.
YOU ARE READING
|POEMS| The untold words...
Poesía|I never told you And you will never know The secrets the stars whispered to me That night under the moon| Cover credits to: @LeroyGraphics
