I don’t know when it happened.
It wasn’t falling — not really.
There was no crash, no warning.
Just this quiet moment
where I opened a door
and realized I’d been locked out of my own heart for years.
And somehow, you were standing on the other side.
It wasn’t fireworks.
It was peace.
And it scares the hell out of me,
because I’m not used to peace lasting.
I’m used to people who say they care,
then make me prove it
until I’m too tired to keep trying.
But here I am —
in love and scared to death.
Because everything I’ve ever loved
has looked me dead in the eye
and told me I was unlovable,
then left me standing in the wreckage,
trying to figure out what I did wrong.
You keep showing me that you’re different,
that this time I won’t have to beg for the bare minimum.
That maybe I can just be.
But that voice in my head —
built from all the goodbyes —
keeps whispering that nothing good ever stays.
And still, I can’t help it.
When you smile, something in me quiets.
When you look at me, I feel seen.
It’s like you reached inside my chest
and found the one place that wasn’t completely ruined—
and you hold the pieces that are,
not to take them from me or change them,
but to share the load.
So here I am —
loving you in the only way I know how:
with trembling hands,
and a heart that still flinches at kindness.
Wondering if you feel this too,
or if I’m just another almost,
another story that ends in silence.
And if you are —
if you’re going to go too —
just don’t lie to me first.
Don’t tell me I’m safe,
only to make me watch the door close again.
I’m tired of being the only one who stays.
Oct 25, 2025
Oct 25, 2025 at 2:45 PM UTC
I don’t know when it happened.
It wasn’t falling — not really.
There was no crash, no warning.
Just this quiet moment
where I opened a door
and realized I’d been locked out of my own heart for years.
And somehow, you were standing on the other side.
It wasn’t fireworks.
It was peace.
And it scares the hell out of me,
because I’m not used to peace lasting.
I’m used to people who say they care,
then make me prove it
until I’m too tired to keep trying.
But here I am —
in love and scared to death.
Because everything I’ve ever loved
has looked me dead in the eye
and told me I was unlovable,
then left me standing in the wreckage,
trying to figure out what I did wrong.
You keep showing me that you’re different,
that this time I won’t have to beg for the bare minimum.
That maybe I can just be.
But that voice in my head —
built from all the goodbyes —
keeps whispering that nothing good ever stays.
And still, I can’t help it.
When you smile, something in me quiets.
When you look at me, I feel seen.
It’s like you reached inside my chest
and found the one place that wasn’t completely ruined—
and you hold the pieces that are,
not to take them from me or change them,
but to share the load.
So here I am —
loving you in the only way I know how:
with trembling hands,
and a heart that still flinches at kindness.
Wondering if you feel this too,
or if I’m just another almost,
another story that ends in silence.
And if you are —
if you’re going to go too —
just don’t lie to me first.
Don’t tell me I’m safe,
only to make me watch the door close again.
I’m tired of being the only one who stays.
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