I’ve always known
my heart was soft enough
to bruise from its own beating.
People called me kind,
empathetic,
the girl who carried storms
inside her chest
just so others could stay dry.
And maybe that was true.
Maybe I was never built
to destroy the people I loved.
But isn’t it terrifying
how even gentle hands
can still leave scars?
Because deep down,
beneath the tenderness,
I know I’ve done things
that even villains would hesitate to confess.
I’ve made people feel
the exact loneliness
I prayed would never find me.
What a cruel paradox –
to crave softness
while becoming someone’s ache.
So tell me,
does that make me evil?
Or just human enough
to ruin beautiful things
out of fear they’ll ruin me first?
I search for deep connection
like it’s oxygen,
like love itself could finally
quiet the chaos in my head.
But the moment someone
gets too close,
I disappear.
Like a ghost terrified
of being seen in daylight.
And I keep asking myself –
why am I so afraid of people
when all I’ve ever wanted
was to be understood by one?
Maybe this is my tragedy:
a heart starving for intimacy
while teaching itself how to run.
Maybe this fear
will become my downfall.
And just maybe,
every hero Is still a villain
in someone else's story.
7d ago
May 29, 2026 at 4:27 AM UTC
I’ve always known
my heart was soft enough
to bruise from its own beating.
People called me kind,
empathetic,
the girl who carried storms
inside her chest
just so others could stay dry.
And maybe that was true.
Maybe I was never built
to destroy the people I loved.
But isn’t it terrifying
how even gentle hands
can still leave scars?
Because deep down,
beneath the tenderness,
I know I’ve done things
that even villains would hesitate to confess.
I’ve made people feel
the exact loneliness
I prayed would never find me.
What a cruel paradox –
to crave softness
while becoming someone’s ache.
So tell me,
does that make me evil?
Or just human enough
to ruin beautiful things
out of fear they’ll ruin me first?
I search for deep connection
like it’s oxygen,
like love itself could finally
quiet the chaos in my head.
But the moment someone
gets too close,
I disappear.
Like a ghost terrified
of being seen in daylight.
And I keep asking myself –
why am I so afraid of people
when all I’ve ever wanted
was to be understood by one?
Maybe this is my tragedy:
a heart starving for intimacy
while teaching itself how to run.
Maybe this fear
will become my downfall.
And just maybe,
every hero Is still a villain
in someone else's story.
