Mar 24
I didn’t love her for who she was.
Not really.
I loved her because she was like me.
Not the version of me I show the world—
But the version I’ve buried,
the one who knows how to manipulate affection,
who confuses attention for intimacy,
who’s played roles to survive.
She was familiar.
And I thought…
if I could love her,
if I could see past the mask and still choose her—
maybe someone could do the same for me.
Maybe I wasn’t beyond redemption.
Maybe sociopaths could be saved
by the very thing we pretend to offer:
real love.
But she wasn’t ready.
Maybe she never will be.
She did what I used to do—
took the love and called it useful,
until it wasn’t.
And now I’m left holding this hollow ache—
not just from losing her,
but from losing the illusion
that someone like me could ever be seen
and still be chosen.
Not really.
I loved her because she was like me.
Not the version of me I show the world—
But the version I’ve buried,
the one who knows how to manipulate affection,
who confuses attention for intimacy,
who’s played roles to survive.
She was familiar.
And I thought…
if I could love her,
if I could see past the mask and still choose her—
maybe someone could do the same for me.
Maybe I wasn’t beyond redemption.
Maybe sociopaths could be saved
by the very thing we pretend to offer:
real love.
But she wasn’t ready.
Maybe she never will be.
She did what I used to do—
took the love and called it useful,
until it wasn’t.
And now I’m left holding this hollow ache—
not just from losing her,
but from losing the illusion
that someone like me could ever be seen
and still be chosen.
“I Thought Loving Her Would Save Me” is a confessional monologue rendered in poetic prose. It navigates the aftermath of a relationship not defined by romance, but by reflection—of the self, of old patterns, and of the impossible desire to heal through another.
Rather than villainizing the subject, the piece explores the complex emotional terrain of projection and recognition. The narrator sees in their partner the shadow of who they once were—someone manipulative, survival-driven, emotionally transactional—and believes that by offering unconditional love to this reflection, they might redeem those same traits within themselves.
The work hinges on a brutal emotional truth: that the attempt to love someone who embodies your worst instincts may be less about connection, and more about a longing to be seen, understood, and ultimately loved despite one's own flaws.
At its core, the piece is about the collapse of an illusion: that love alone can save us from ourselves. The artist grapples with rejection not as a singular heartbreak, but as a symbolic unraveling of hope—for change, for worthiness, for redemption.
The tone is unflinching yet compassionate, offering no excuses but seeking clarity. It is both self-indictment and elegy, both mourning and a quiet act of liberation.
Rather than villainizing the subject, the piece explores the complex emotional terrain of projection and recognition. The narrator sees in their partner the shadow of who they once were—someone manipulative, survival-driven, emotionally transactional—and believes that by offering unconditional love to this reflection, they might redeem those same traits within themselves.
The work hinges on a brutal emotional truth: that the attempt to love someone who embodies your worst instincts may be less about connection, and more about a longing to be seen, understood, and ultimately loved despite one's own flaws.
At its core, the piece is about the collapse of an illusion: that love alone can save us from ourselves. The artist grapples with rejection not as a singular heartbreak, but as a symbolic unraveling of hope—for change, for worthiness, for redemption.
The tone is unflinching yet compassionate, offering no excuses but seeking clarity. It is both self-indictment and elegy, both mourning and a quiet act of liberation.
