One day,
I’ll stand in front of the mirror
and won’t look away.

My eyes won’t dodge
the reflection
of a girl who’s lived through too much
but still stayed.

I’ll touch my skin
without flinching.
I’ll wear softness
without shame.
I’ll trace every scar
like a map
of where I didn’t break.

The weight of their hands
will no longer sit on my chest.
Their voices will fade
into silence.
And mine
mine will rise.

I’ll love myself
gently,
fiercely,
with all the compassion
they never gave me.

And the mirror?
It won’t be a punishment.
It will be a promise
that I came back to me.

Not the same.
Not untouched.
But alive.
And healing.

If you ever wondered what I felt
when you said, “we’re not in sync”
know this:
my heart didn’t break quietly.
It shattered
in all the spaces
you once filled with hope.

You held me like maybe.
You spoke like someday.
You smiled like promise.
And then walked away.

Don’t dress it up.
It wasn’t fate,
or timing,
or stars out of line.
It was choice.
It was yours.
And it wasn’t mine.

But I won’t chase ghosts
in the ruins of “almost.”
I just hope one day,
you feel
the kind of ache
you left in me
and realize
it was love.