I wish I didn’t love so true,
Didn’t wait in silence, bruised and blue.
For hearts like mine, so fiercely kind,
Are often left the last to find.
I give and give, with hope so wide,
Yet end up empty, torn inside.
It’s not the waiting that brings me pain,
But waiting for love that comes like rain—
Too late, too cold, on soil that’s dry,
Where once bloomed dreams have long since died.
They come when I no longer care,
When I’ve forgotten to even stare
At shadows of what might have been—
When I’ve stitched up the wounds within.
And suddenly, they reappear,
Like echoes I no longer hear.
But now my heart, once soft, once warm,
Has learned the armor of a storm.
I hate the person I become—
So numb, so quiet, so undone.
For kindness turns to silent walls,
When love no longer dares to call.
And yet, I never meant to harm,
I only sought a gentle arm.
I never wished to break a soul,
Just longed for someone to make me whole.
So here I stand, alone once more,
Learning what loneliness is for.
It teaches strength in quiet breath,
A kind of peace that flirts with death.
It shows the truth behind the smile,
The weight we carry all the while.
I do not curse those who have strayed,
Nor blame the ones who walked away.
But still I wish they'd understand
The ache of holding out your hand,
Only to grasp the empty air,
While swearing love was always there.
Now I retreat, not out of hate,
But to protect what they forsake.
I walk with wounds I do not show,
Through silent nights where no stars glow.
And if they ask why I grew cold,
It’s not revenge — it’s growing old
Of promises that never stay,
Of hearts that love, then drift away.
Still, through the dark, I whisper low,
A prayer only the skies may know:
"Dear God, don’t let this heart decay,
Don’t turn my tenderness away.
Let me survive this hollow part...
Have mercy on a loyal heart."
