It Was Never Mine To Begin With

I know,
I’m very childish.

It took me a while to realise
that I live too much inside my own head,
and because of that
I’ve missed so much of the real world.

Now I truly understand
how self-centred I can be.
To the point where no one can really hurt me anymore,
so, I guess I learned to hurt myself instead.

Maybe I’m wrong this time too.

Looking back at all the arguments,
the misunderstandings,
the nights we fought each other instead of the problem,
I realise now
how easy it is to make mistakes unknowingly
when you believe everything, you do is right.

And that was me.

Who could ever argue with me?
After all,
I was always right.

I know you know
I’ve carried a lot of pain.
And yes, everyone suffers,
but pain feels different when it is the only thing
you’ve known for so long.

Maybe that’s why I convinced myself
I was heartless.

But the truth is,
I have only ever experienced life as myself.
I have never lived inside anyone else’s wounds.

You must have wondered,
Why must she always be the victim?
Why can’t she forgive?
Why does pain always have the final word?

The truth is,
I was hurting.

At first, I gave you everything.
I told you things
I had never said out loud before.

But you knew me.
You knew my pride.

And sometimes when you tried to comfort me,
I could see how badly you wanted to fix things,
yet some wounds
cannot be loved away.

So no,
you were never a failure.

I could never let you believe that.

I still remember
how your face would fall
every time tears escaped my eyes
after we made love.

I could never fully control them.
After all,
I was human too.

And I remember how gently
you would pull me closer afterwards,
holding me as though love alone
could quiet the storm inside me.

Those moments were supposed to feel beautiful.
And maybe part of me wanted them to be.

You never forced me.
You always asked.
You always waited for my answer.

I was the one
who kept pretending I was okay.

And speaking about this still hurts,
but I need to let it leave my body somehow.

I want to move on honestly.

When we broke up,
it looked like your fault.
But now I know
I was already searching for reasons to run.

Maybe you were right when you said
only we could make each other happy.

I know I rarely spoke plainly.
I hid myself behind metaphors,
imaginary situations,
unfinished sentences.

And I kept doing that
until the very end.

After I left you,
I tried to escape you too.

You know how I am,
I always find ways to outrun my own thoughts.

So, I kept myself busy.
I laughed.
I distracted myself.
I pretended I was moving on
faster than my heart really was.

And maybe that was selfish.

I found someone
who reminded me of you,
or maybe I only wanted to believe he did.

I thought he understood me,
forgetting that even I
did not understand myself.

Looking back now,
it feels cruel,
especially because he once knew you too.

I don’t even know
what I was searching for.

And the worst part is,
I realised later
that even he carried resentment toward you.

Luckily,
I never went too deep.
Although I almost did.

And when you saw me with those other guys,
the guilt nearly consumed me.

I don’t know why I still feel the need
to explain myself to you.

They were asking me out, yes,
but none of them
ever made me feel as safe as you did.

And maybe that’s why
I’m always searching for chances to run into you,
even though seeing you terrifies me.

Because whenever you walk past me,
a current rushes through my entire body,
so sudden and violent
that I feel like I might collapse beneath it.

Maybe they call it butterflies.
Maybe it’s fear.
Maybe it’s both.

I’m still trying to figure that out myself.

I’ve told you many things before,
but never the things
I truly wanted to say.

So, listen carefully,

I will always love you.
But I also know the truth now,
I will never change.
I will forever remain avoidant,
forever running,
forever too much of a coward
to stay when love asks me to be fully seen.

Yes, you tried to protect me.
You were ready for forever.
Ready for all of me.

But the truth is,
I was never ready for that kind of love.

And I wish I had realised it
before you fell too deeply into me.

Everything happened too fast.

I never healed,
Not really.
After that incident,
I gave up on life in ways
I never admitted out loud.

I chose the shadows
and slowly turned them into a home.

And for a long time,
you became my home too.

Not a perfect one,
but a place I kept returning to anyway.

Maybe part of me still wants to.

But I’ve realised something painful,
I painted you with my suffering
until even you began forgetting yourself.

And your life without me
looked lighter.

Peaceful.

I couldn’t give you
the one thing you truly wanted from me,
peace.

So I knew
I could never become your forever.

And because I loved you,
I could not keep you trapped
inside the ruins of my unhealed life.

Eventually,
it would have destroyed you too.