Some things are better left unsaid. I feel the crushing truth of this line pressing down on me. For the first time in my life, I wish I could erase a conversation entirely, wipe it from existence. In just five minutes, words I let slip pulled my relationship with David back by months, maybe years. Now I live inside the echo of that moment, and if I had to name what fills me — it is nothing but REGRET.
When I replay it in my head, I feel a cold pressure blooming in my chest, a tingling hollowness where warmth used to be. I search for a reason, any excuse to justify what I said, but there’s nothing convincing enough. I am left afraid — afraid of my own impulsiveness, afraid of the version of myself who spoke, afraid that I destroyed something I cannot rebuild. I fear I will never again have what once was with David. This is my doing, and my only companion now is regret.
They say you can sense when someone has changed. And I know it’s true. I see it in his eyes — eyes that used to hold me, now staring through me into some abyss. His voice carries a thin, brittle layer over it. His expression, even his silences, are wrapped in a new distance. I can feel the wall I built, invisible yet undeniable.
He is still processing. I am still processing. And all I want is to forget. But regret coils tighter each day. I don’t know how to fix this. Even if I do, fixing is not erasing. A mended crack always shows. A broken person carries the mark forever. You can always tell.
Some things are better left unsaid. Yet here I am, repeating it to myself like a prayer, as if it can undo what happened. I weigh every word now a hundred times before speaking. I wonder if it was really me who said those words, or if I was detached, lost, speaking from some place outside myself. I want to rip it all out of me. But I can’t. So, I’ll carry this sentence with me — before I close my eyes, before I rise from bed, before I breathe, before I dare to speak again: some things are better left unsaid.
Written on August 18, 2025