20/07/2025
She lit candles in quiet rooms,
arranged soft petals in corners of light,
held gatherings with laughter stitched into the air,
all in the hopes of making him happy.
She painted smiles with her hands,
baked warmth into the mornings,
wrapped notes in the folds of his days,
all in the hopes of making him smile.
She spoke in colors,
dreamed in solutions,
crafted futures with trembling hope,
all in the hopes of making them whole.
But her offerings always missed the mark.
Too quiet.
Too loud.
Too much.
Never enough.
Uninvited.
Unwanted.
Too tangled.
Too wrong.
Still, she whispered to herself,
“I will keep going.”
Still, she promised,
“I’ll try again, and again, until that one sweet day.”
She fought in silence,
brave and breaking,
never realizing she was the only soldier on that field.
Love flowed to him, steady, certain, like a river.
Whether it ever flowed back to her remained a quiet puzzle,
one she could never quite solve.
She thought it was her fault,
for not understanding the language of his heart.
She wore the blame like a second skin.
The future is lucky
to receive the ease
that someone else once bled for.
It was mercy,
how he made her run out of chances.
It was kindness.
Now, under softer skies, she sees clearly everything
she should have known back then.
Now, she breathes differently,
grateful for the freedom
in the space where love used to ache.
No longer chasing,
no longer at war with a battle
that was never hers to win.
Loneliness still visits, on quiet evenings,
when the ghosts of could-have-beens
and should-have-beens tiptoe in.
But she is no longer alone.
Now, tears can fall without drowning.
Now crying doesn't feel like dying.
Now, even when the world is still heavy,
she can rest.
She can sleep.
She can wake.
She can look to the morning sky
and the night sky
and feel the same peace in both.
Now, the sunshine is beautiful,
not because it warms someone else,
but because it touches her skin.
The sunset is beautiful,
not as an ending,
but as proof that something can burn and still glow.
The moon is beautiful,
soft, quiet,
watching over her as she learns to watch over herself.
The stars are beautiful,
tiny lights reminding her
she is never too far from wonder.
Now, the pillows exhale.
She laughs again wholeheartedly,
at the ridiculous,
the sweet,
the small.
She finds love in the steam of her tea,
in flowers blooming along sidewalks,
in the way the wind plays with the hem of her dress.
Now, there is love for him, quiet, distant, without pain.
Now, there is love for her.
Now, with nothing left to carry,
she only wishes him well.
