Jan 7
One day,
I will fade into the quiet corners of your memory,
not with thunder, not with fire,
but like a soft echo swallowed by time.
Not today, not tomorrow,
but someday,
you’ll see me for what I truly was—
not a person,
but a fragment,
a reflection of everything you hoped to find.
You didn’t love me.
You loved the promise of who I could be,
the dream you built from my broken edges.
You loved the colors you painted over my cracks,
not the emptiness beneath.
The only light I carried
was the glow of your own love,
shining through me,
casting shadows I could never escape.
And when you see the truth,
you’ll wonder:
Was it love that kept you here,
or the quiet desperation to fix what was already lost?
Was it my touch you needed,
or the hope that I might become something whole,
something I never was,
something I never could be?
Maybe you’ll feel anger.
Not at me,
but at the hours, the years,
spent holding onto something that slipped
through your fingers like water.
You thought I could complete you,
but I was only ruins—
and you,
you were building cathedrals from rubble.
You’ll grieve.
Not for me,
but for the pieces of yourself you left behind.
You’ll mourn the ghost of us,
the fragile illusion that tethered you to me.
And one day,
my name will fall from your lips like dust—
soft, forgotten,
a memory too faint to hold.
You’ll laugh at what once was,
and it will no longer sting.
You’ll heal.
You’ll find roots in the soil where I left ashes.
You’ll bloom in ways
I could never nourish.
And I?
I will sit with the weight of who I am—
not the villain,
but a shadow,
a trembling reflection of my own failures.
I hurt you—
not because I wanted to,
but because I didn’t know how to hold
what was pure.
My hands were too full of fractures,
too bloodied from battles I never won.
I broke you
because I was already breaking,
and your love pressed too close to the cracks.
One day,
you’ll forget me.
Because I was never the light—
only the flicker of a flame
that burned too quickly to keep you warm.
I was never the masterpiece—
just the frame,
just the shadow,
just the dream you poured yourself into,
hoping it would stay.
And when you say my name,
it will taste like water—
something once vital,
now unnoticed.
I will fade like the echo of a wave,
soft, distant,
leaving no trace upon your shore.
I will fade into the quiet corners of your memory,
not with thunder, not with fire,
but like a soft echo swallowed by time.
Not today, not tomorrow,
but someday,
you’ll see me for what I truly was—
not a person,
but a fragment,
a reflection of everything you hoped to find.
You didn’t love me.
You loved the promise of who I could be,
the dream you built from my broken edges.
You loved the colors you painted over my cracks,
not the emptiness beneath.
The only light I carried
was the glow of your own love,
shining through me,
casting shadows I could never escape.
And when you see the truth,
you’ll wonder:
Was it love that kept you here,
or the quiet desperation to fix what was already lost?
Was it my touch you needed,
or the hope that I might become something whole,
something I never was,
something I never could be?
Maybe you’ll feel anger.
Not at me,
but at the hours, the years,
spent holding onto something that slipped
through your fingers like water.
You thought I could complete you,
but I was only ruins—
and you,
you were building cathedrals from rubble.
You’ll grieve.
Not for me,
but for the pieces of yourself you left behind.
You’ll mourn the ghost of us,
the fragile illusion that tethered you to me.
And one day,
my name will fall from your lips like dust—
soft, forgotten,
a memory too faint to hold.
You’ll laugh at what once was,
and it will no longer sting.
You’ll heal.
You’ll find roots in the soil where I left ashes.
You’ll bloom in ways
I could never nourish.
And I?
I will sit with the weight of who I am—
not the villain,
but a shadow,
a trembling reflection of my own failures.
I hurt you—
not because I wanted to,
but because I didn’t know how to hold
what was pure.
My hands were too full of fractures,
too bloodied from battles I never won.
I broke you
because I was already breaking,
and your love pressed too close to the cracks.
One day,
you’ll forget me.
Because I was never the light—
only the flicker of a flame
that burned too quickly to keep you warm.
I was never the masterpiece—
just the frame,
just the shadow,
just the dream you poured yourself into,
hoping it would stay.
And when you say my name,
it will taste like water—
something once vital,
now unnoticed.
I will fade like the echo of a wave,
soft, distant,
leaving no trace upon your shore.
