You called it friendship.
But it wasn’t friendship, was it?
Not when you held my heart in your hands,
a fragile, trembling thing—
and you squeezed,
just enough to feel it crack,
just enough to keep me begging for air.
Every glance was an anchor.
Every word, a trap.
You weren’t careless—
you were calculated.
You gave just enough to keep me alive,
just enough to make me believe
that maybe I could matter to someone.
But not to you.
Never to you.
You wanted the devotion,
but not the responsibility.
The love,
but not the weight of it.
You pulled the strings,
watched me twist,
and when I shattered,
you stood back,
arms crossed,
and blamed me for breaking.
Because I was never the destination.
I was just another trophy for your shelf,
another fragile soul to notch on your belt.
You smiled like you’d won,
like breaking me was your masterpiece,
while I drowned in the weight
of never being enough for you.
You flirted like it was a game,
like hearts were trophies
you could collect and discard.
But when the cracks in your mask showed,
when the truth of your manipulation
became too hard to hide,
you turned on me.
You called me needy.
You called me too much.
You made me question my sanity
for believing the lies you whispered
like the truth.
And God, how you made me want you.
Like a starving man chasing crumbs,
I followed,
grateful for the scraps
that fell from your careless hands.
I swallowed your indifference like poison,
and called it love.
I wasn’t your victim,
not in your mind.
No, you made me your villain—
a desperate fool who wanted too much,
when all you were offering
was the hollow shell of companionship.
But you didn’t just offer friendship.
You dangled love in front of me
like a prize I could earn
if only I tried hard enough.
And when I reached out,
when I dared to hope,
you recoiled—
not out of surprise,
but out of calculated cruelty.
As if the problem wasn’t your lies,
but my belief in them.
You manipulated my heart
like it was an instrument
you could play to your tune.
You twisted my feelings,
turned my trust into a weapon
and aimed it straight at me.
And when I fell,
you didn’t even look back.
You just walked away,
leaving me to choke
on the blame you shoved down my throat.
You made me feel
like I was never enough—
not for you,
not for anyone.
You left me staring at my own reflection,
wondering what was so broken in me
that I could never be loved.
You turned my kindness into a flaw,
my vulnerability into a weakness,
and my love into something shameful.
And the cruelest part?
You knew.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
You dangled yourself
just close enough to taste,
but never enough to hold.
You made me feel like a child
chasing shadows—
a game I couldn’t win.
And I—
I was the fool who stayed,
who waited,
who let your breadcrumbs lead me
to this jagged edge.
And now, here I am,
clinging to the ledge of who I used to be,
on the edge where you left me,
the wind ripping through my chest,
the rocks below calling my name.
Because for a moment,
just one agonizing moment,
it feels easier to fall—
to let go, to end the ache you left behind—
than to keep living
in a world where you exist,
untouched by the wreckage you caused.
Because you left me with nothing—
not even myself.
But here’s the truth you’ll probably never face:
You were the broken one.
You used people to fill the void inside you,
and when they got too close,
you shoved them into the fire
and called it their fault for burning.
You built a life
on the ashes of the hearts you destroyed,
and you smiled like you won.
But one day,
the mirrors will crack.
The lies will catch up to you.
And when you’re standing alone,
wondering why no one stays,
you’ll remember me.
Not as the fool who loved you,
but as the one who climbed back onto the cliff,
not because I wasn’t enough,
but because I was too much for your hollow hands to hold.
And you’ll finally understand:
You didn’t win.
You never did.
You only thought you did
because I let you.
you didn’t destroy me.
The only thing you destroyed
was the illusion
that you were ever worth it.
And even if I’m still bleeding,
even if my hands are torn raw
from clawing my way back
to the ledge you let me fall from,
I’ll heal.
I’ll rebuild.
I’ll become something
you’ll never understand—
whole, without you.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 9:34 PM UTC
You called it friendship.
But it wasn’t friendship, was it?
Not when you held my heart in your hands,
a fragile, trembling thing—
and you squeezed,
just enough to feel it crack,
just enough to keep me begging for air.
Every glance was an anchor.
Every word, a trap.
You weren’t careless—
you were calculated.
You gave just enough to keep me alive,
just enough to make me believe
that maybe I could matter to someone.
But not to you.
Never to you.
You wanted the devotion,
but not the responsibility.
The love,
but not the weight of it.
You pulled the strings,
watched me twist,
and when I shattered,
you stood back,
arms crossed,
and blamed me for breaking.
Because I was never the destination.
I was just another trophy for your shelf,
another fragile soul to notch on your belt.
You smiled like you’d won,
like breaking me was your masterpiece,
while I drowned in the weight
of never being enough for you.
You flirted like it was a game,
like hearts were trophies
you could collect and discard.
But when the cracks in your mask showed,
when the truth of your manipulation
became too hard to hide,
you turned on me.
You called me needy.
You called me too much.
You made me question my sanity
for believing the lies you whispered
like the truth.
And God, how you made me want you.
Like a starving man chasing crumbs,
I followed,
grateful for the scraps
that fell from your careless hands.
I swallowed your indifference like poison,
and called it love.
I wasn’t your victim,
not in your mind.
No, you made me your villain—
a desperate fool who wanted too much,
when all you were offering
was the hollow shell of companionship.
But you didn’t just offer friendship.
You dangled love in front of me
like a prize I could earn
if only I tried hard enough.
And when I reached out,
when I dared to hope,
you recoiled—
not out of surprise,
but out of calculated cruelty.
As if the problem wasn’t your lies,
but my belief in them.
You manipulated my heart
like it was an instrument
you could play to your tune.
You twisted my feelings,
turned my trust into a weapon
and aimed it straight at me.
And when I fell,
you didn’t even look back.
You just walked away,
leaving me to choke
on the blame you shoved down my throat.
You made me feel
like I was never enough—
not for you,
not for anyone.
You left me staring at my own reflection,
wondering what was so broken in me
that I could never be loved.
You turned my kindness into a flaw,
my vulnerability into a weakness,
and my love into something shameful.
And the cruelest part?
You knew.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
You dangled yourself
just close enough to taste,
but never enough to hold.
You made me feel like a child
chasing shadows—
a game I couldn’t win.
And I—
I was the fool who stayed,
who waited,
who let your breadcrumbs lead me
to this jagged edge.
And now, here I am,
clinging to the ledge of who I used to be,
on the edge where you left me,
the wind ripping through my chest,
the rocks below calling my name.
Because for a moment,
just one agonizing moment,
it feels easier to fall—
to let go, to end the ache you left behind—
than to keep living
in a world where you exist,
untouched by the wreckage you caused.
Because you left me with nothing—
not even myself.
But here’s the truth you’ll probably never face:
You were the broken one.
You used people to fill the void inside you,
and when they got too close,
you shoved them into the fire
and called it their fault for burning.
You built a life
on the ashes of the hearts you destroyed,
and you smiled like you won.
But one day,
the mirrors will crack.
The lies will catch up to you.
And when you’re standing alone,
wondering why no one stays,
you’ll remember me.
Not as the fool who loved you,
but as the one who climbed back onto the cliff,
not because I wasn’t enough,
but because I was too much for your hollow hands to hold.
And you’ll finally understand:
You didn’t win.
You never did.
You only thought you did
because I let you.
you didn’t destroy me.
The only thing you destroyed
was the illusion
that you were ever worth it.
And even if I’m still bleeding,
even if my hands are torn raw
from clawing my way back
to the ledge you let me fall from,
I’ll heal.
I’ll rebuild.
I’ll become something
you’ll never understand—
whole, without you.
~an attempt to put into words what a friend endured. I wrote this because no one should endure the kind of pain I saw rip through someone I care about.
(Male POV)
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