There was a house where the silence screamed, where footsteps were warnings and breath meant war, she learned the language of the floorboards, how each groan spelled danger, how shadows could hold their breath and become a man.
A basement where time forgot to move, where light curled back on itself and everything smelled like rot and rust, and the end of innocence.
Each day the sun rose somewhere else, not here, here, he waited - with a voice that smiled and hands that lied, he dragged her down like some dark ritual, her legs small, her resistance smaller.
The air was thick with mildew and menace, and every creak of the stairs was a countdown.
She knew the sound of his zipper better than she knew her own voice, it came before the hand, before the hush, before her name was twisted into a thing she didn't recognize - "so cute", he whispered, his sour breath staining her cheek, his palm sealing her scream like a grave before the burial.
Her body a locked cabinet he broke open anyway, her mouth pressed shut by his hand, so tight she thought she'd disappear beneath it, her name became a curse only he could say.
Seven years is a long time to be dead but still breathing, a long time to collect bruises you can't point to, to count the days by how deeply you dissociate, to lie in bed, waiting for the footsteps, learning to pray in silence, learning that God had turned his face away.
And the walls - they were good at keeping secrets, the cement heard everything but never wept - not like her.
Her bones still ache with memory, each rib a frozen branch, cracking beneath the weight of winter, her heart shattered on repeat - like glassware dropped in slow motion that no one bothers to clean up.
"Don't cry, you'll wake up the house", but the house was already awake, it learned to listen like she did - without flinching.
The nightmares bloom nightly, sheets soaked with fear, her breath a stuttered, shattered siren, she wakes choking on the echoes of a voice she was never allowed to use.
Pain is a language, and she became fluent, she learned to smile with empty eyes, to eat silence for dinner and fear for dessert, she learned to scrub herself raw, but she still feel him clinging in places water couldn't reach, fingerprints etched into her skin.
She was a child, but not really - not after that, her toys became tombstones, her bed, a battlefield, sleep was a place she couldn't get to without barbed wire dreams.
She wakes now, still - drenched in panic, sheets soaked through like she'd been drowning all night, and maybe she was, maybe she always am.
Because healing doesn't come like spring, it comes like winter forgetting to leave, some mornings, her bones scream before she move, memories frozen, crying herself to sleep on repeat.
She carry ghosts inside her skin, they press through when the world is too loud, too close, she flinches at kindness, she distrust calm.
But even now, in this thicket of remembering, a part of her whispers, "you lived", and she did, not gently, not untouched, not completely.
She lived when no one heard her, she lived when love meant chains, she lived through every slammed door, every silenced scream, every time she thought death would be easier.
She lived, and she's still here, crumpled, yes, but breathing, bent, not broken, she is the aftermath that keeps growing - a wild, ruined garden refusing to die.

I loved you like the moon loves tides, pulling close, then pulling wide, a rhythm carved from ache and care, yet too much weight was in the air.
You were my lighthouse in the black, the one who always led me back, but even lighthouses loose light - and I, the storm, swallowed the night.
You saw the best when I was breaking, held my hand though they were shaking, but shadows clung to all I knew - even sunlight felt so blue. You saw the cracks before I did, found every place my soul had hid, you kissed the ghost behind my eyes, made peace where every panic lies.
You held my hand when I would shake, stood calm when I began to break, but love should never burn the one who gives and gets no return.
And though you said you'd never leave, I saw the weight you wore like grief, a smile stretched too thin to last, like flowers blooming in a blast.
I tried to be the sun, the shore, but what I gave just asked for more, my chest, a cage of crows and flame, whispered truths I couldn't name.
You held me through sleepless cries, the spirals, cuts, the anxious lies, but in your eyes, I came to see - you were fading while saving me.
And that's no life for love to live - to always take, to never give, I knew the cost, I knew the toll: to stay with me would wreck your soul.
So though it breaks what's left inside, I choose the hurt where you survive, if I could switch, if I could mend, if I could promise there's an end - I'd keep you close, I'd hold you tight, and walk with you into the light.
But I've been drowning far too long, to drag you down where you don't belong, so let me be the loss you mourn, not the burden you were born to carry past your own despair, you loved enough - it's not fair.
But you had to go where you can bloom, not wilt beside my inner tomb, I love you still, in quiet ways - in dark hours, in yesterdays.
I had to go, and you had too, for love like this can ruin you, and though you ache, I hope you know: to love you, I let you go.

I lit my hands to warm their nights, burned down my voice to make it right, bent every edge, broke every bone, to build them peace and feel alone.
I learned to smile through shattered glass, made laughter from the things that pass, carried their burdens without sound, till my own heart was underground.
They praised me when I played their part, but never reached within my heart, said, "you're so strong", as if that cured the years of silence I endured.
They loved the mask, the shape I wore, the version I was just before, but when I changed - when cracks showed through, they mourned the lie they thought was true.
"You're not yourself", they'd say with scorn, not knowing I was worn and torn, not knowing that the self they missed was built from bruises I dismissed.
I dimmed my light so theirs could burn, took hits for lessons they could learn, held steady in their thunder's path, and gave them grace instead of wrath.
I made my pain a hidden well, and filled it deep with "I'm just swell", till water rose past every breath, and kindness felt a lot like death.
And still, I stayed, and played the role - the healer with a hollow soul, the "safe one" they could always call, the one who'd never let them see her fall.
But I was falling all along, just good at dressing grief in song, I cried in rooms they never knew, and still asked them what they went through.
They missed the me that kept it light, not the one who fought the fear, of never truly being here.
I changed, yes - how could I not? When every wound was left to rot? When love felt more like debt to pay, and worth was just what I could weigh?
They called it selfish when you grow, when you say "no", when you let go, but it's not selfish to survive, to carve out space and stay alive.
I am not less for needing space, for letting my performance cease, for walking back into my skin, and not apologizing again.
And still I give - but not the same, not bleeding just to bear the blame, if loving me means shrinking small, then maybe don't love me at all.
But still it haunts - the need to be enough for those who don't see me, to earn what should be freely kept, to mourn the self I quietly wept.
And maybe that's the price I pay: to break in silence every day, to wear their coldness like perfume, and carry ghosts in every room.
But know this truth: I always cared, I gave too much, was never spared, and if they look, perhaps they'll see - what broke was love, not only me.

I wear a smile like borrowed skin, but underneath I cave within, a haunted house with hollow halls, where love just echoes off the walls.
I laugh on cue, I play my part, but fear runs rampant through my heart, each kindness offered feels unearned - like warmth misplaced, or bridges burned.
You say I'm good, you say I'm strong, but I have felt so wrong, so long, these hands have trembled through the years, have held regret, have held back tears.
If love is light, then I am dusk - a fading shape, a shell of trust, you reach for me like I'm still whole, but can't you feel the missing soul?
I see the way your eyes go soft, like love is easy, like I'm not lost, and every word you give so true, I twist and turn, then doubt it too.
I don't know why you even try - what part of me could qualify for tenderness you freely give, to someone still too scared to live?
You speak of stars, of second chances, of finding peace in broken stances, but I've been shattered far too wide, I've learned to keep the hurt inside.
My past is not a tale I share - it sit like smoke in stagnant air, and every flaw I try to hide still stains the walls I build inside.
I walk through life with quiet dread, with battles raging in my head, and though you hold my trembling hand, I still don't think you understand.
I'm not the one in fairytales, I'm not the heart that never fails, I'm worn, I'm bruised, I'm far from new, I don't know why you love me too.
Each time you say you care, I flinch - my heart pulls back inch after inch, because deep down I still believe that love is something I can't receive.
I've practiced silence, shame, and doubt, built walls too thick to figure out, I've learned to wait for things to end, even love that tries to bend.
So if you leave, I won't ask why, I'll just let go, I'll just comply, you deserve someone sure and strong, not someone who feels always wrong.
But if you stay, despite it all - the distant stare, the frightened call, then maybe, slowly, I could learn that even ruins still can burn.
And maybe love's not earned or owed, but something given just to hold, still, I confess, I don't yet see what makes you think there's good in me.
So here I stand, unsure, afraid, a heart unstitched, a life mislaid, but if you love this shattered frame, perhaps there's more than just the shame.
And though I doubt, and though I break, if you still stay for my own sake, then maybe I could start to be a little less unworthy - a little more... just me.