Regret, Sorrow, Anger

You…

You idiot.

Do you even realize what you’ve done?

You thought life was a game, like you had all the time in the world to make mistakes and bounce back like nothing ever happened. But every decision you made—every damn time you looked the other way—you carved scars into my future. Into me. And now I’m here, choking on the consequences of your blind faith, your softness, your desperate need to be loved by people who never even saw you.

You trusted them.

You loved them.

And they ruined you.

But you let them. You held the door open. You smiled through betrayal. You laughed with people who were carving knives behind your back. You knew. Deep down, you knew. But you stayed. You apologized. You begged. And every time you did, you handed them a piece of yourself—until there was nothing left to give but silence and shame.

Now I carry the silence. I carry the shame.

You thought pain made you strong? No. It made you numb. You thought being the “bigger person” meant something? No. It just made you easier to hurt. You swallowed your voice for people who wouldn’t flinch if you screamed. And now? Now I can’t even cry right.

I look at you—so full of dreams, so damn sure everything would fall into place—and I want to grab you by the collar and shake you.

Why didn’t you fight for yourself?

Why didn’t you leave when your soul was bleeding? Why did you make me the one who has to bleed every time I try to love again?

I hate you for what you let happen.

But I love you, too.

And that’s the hardest part.

Because I know you didn’t do it out of malice.

You did it out of hope.

That innocent, foolish hope that maybe this time, things would be different.

God, I miss that part of you.

But I’ve buried it now. I had to. I built walls around what you left behind. I armored myself with apathy because it hurts too much to care the way you did. It hurts too much to feel like you.

Still… sometimes I wish I could hold you. Tell you what no one else did. That it wasn’t your fault. That you were enough. That you didn’t have to bleed to be loved.

But it’s too late, isn’t it?

You’re gone. And I’m all that’s left.

And I’m still trying to forgive you.

But I’m not there yet.

Not yet.