I watch the sky now.
Not because it's beautiful.
Not because the clouds remind me
that somewhere above all this
there's a God with a plan.
I watch because I'm waiting.
Waiting for the universe to balance a scale
that bent beneath my weight.
You called it avoidance.
I called it love
trying to survive on starvation rations.
You called it needing space.
I called it another night
staring at a glowing screen,
convincing myself that silence
wasn't an answer.
You never had to reject me.
That would've required commitment.
Commitment to a decision.
Commitment to honesty.
Commitment to looking me in the eye
and saying,
"I cannot be what you need."
Instead I got fog.
Enough affection to keep me standing.
Enough distance to keep me chasing.
A lighthouse that never intended
to guide ships ashore.
I became an archaeologist
of your absences.
Dusting fingerprints from old conversations.
Studying the fossils
of half-finished promises.
Trying to translate silence
into a language
that didn't hurt.
The strange thing is,
I never wanted perfection.
I wanted certainty.
A moment.
A sentence.
Something small enough
to fit inside a text message.
Something that said:
"I know what you've done."
Instead I learned
that ambiguity is a powerful drug.
Strong enough to keep a man hopeful.
Strong enough to keep him waiting.
Strong enough to make him question
his own reflection.
Now when I look at the stars,
I don't wish disaster upon you.
I wish revelation.
I hope one day
you stand where I stood.
Giving more than you should.
Waiting longer than you should.
Believing harder than you should.
And in that moment,
when the weight finally
reaches your chest,
I hope understanding arrives.
Not because I hate you.
Because I loved you.
And that is the tragedy.
The people who hurt us most
are rarely the people
we wanted to punish.
They're the people
we wanted to understand us.
The people
we wanted to choose us.
The people
we would've crossed oceans for.
So I watch the sky.
And I wonder whether Karma
isn't lightning.
Maybe it's memory.
Maybe it's waking up one day
and realising how many chances
someone gave you.
Maybe it's hearing a name
years later
and feeling a silence
you can't explain.
Maybe Karma isn't destruction.
Maybe it's clarity arriving late.
So I watch the sky.
And for the first time,
I stop asking why you couldn't love me
the way I loved you.
I ask something harder.
Whether I was in love with you,
or in love with the person
I kept hoping you would become.
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 6:26 PM UTC
I watch the sky now.
Not because it's beautiful.
Not because the clouds remind me
that somewhere above all this
there's a God with a plan.
I watch because I'm waiting.
Waiting for the universe to balance a scale
that bent beneath my weight.
You called it avoidance.
I called it love
trying to survive on starvation rations.
You called it needing space.
I called it another night
staring at a glowing screen,
convincing myself that silence
wasn't an answer.
You never had to reject me.
That would've required commitment.
Commitment to a decision.
Commitment to honesty.
Commitment to looking me in the eye
and saying,
"I cannot be what you need."
Instead I got fog.
Enough affection to keep me standing.
Enough distance to keep me chasing.
A lighthouse that never intended
to guide ships ashore.
I became an archaeologist
of your absences.
Dusting fingerprints from old conversations.
Studying the fossils
of half-finished promises.
Trying to translate silence
into a language
that didn't hurt.
The strange thing is,
I never wanted perfection.
I wanted certainty.
A moment.
A sentence.
Something small enough
to fit inside a text message.
Something that said:
"I know what you've done."
Instead I learned
that ambiguity is a powerful drug.
Strong enough to keep a man hopeful.
Strong enough to keep him waiting.
Strong enough to make him question
his own reflection.
Now when I look at the stars,
I don't wish disaster upon you.
I wish revelation.
I hope one day
you stand where I stood.
Giving more than you should.
Waiting longer than you should.
Believing harder than you should.
And in that moment,
when the weight finally
reaches your chest,
I hope understanding arrives.
Not because I hate you.
Because I loved you.
And that is the tragedy.
The people who hurt us most
are rarely the people
we wanted to punish.
They're the people
we wanted to understand us.
The people
we wanted to choose us.
The people
we would've crossed oceans for.
So I watch the sky.
And I wonder whether Karma
isn't lightning.
Maybe it's memory.
Maybe it's waking up one day
and realising how many chances
someone gave you.
Maybe it's hearing a name
years later
and feeling a silence
you can't explain.
Maybe Karma isn't destruction.
Maybe it's clarity arriving late.
So I watch the sky.
And for the first time,
I stop asking why you couldn't love me
the way I loved you.
I ask something harder.
Whether I was in love with you,
or in love with the person
I kept hoping you would become.
