Why do I love
so hard,
so deeply,
when I know
it’s only going to hurt me more?

When I know
it’ll just tear open
old wounds—
make the scars bleed
all over again,
like they do
every time I care,
every time I love.

It always ends the same:
with me feeling
like I’ll never be enough,
like I’ll never be the one
they truly want.

Just a maybe.
The one who loved
too hard,
too deeply.
Who smiled through the day,
and let her eyes bleed
through the night.

Cold.
Unheld.
No warm arms
to wrap around her,
to whisper,
"You are enough"
"You matter"
"You mean something"

But those words never came.
Just silence.
Just pain.
And more scars—
fresh,
red,
and aching.