Opossum's Antics

she really loves him.

When a guy cries over a girl

he will never love anyone the

same again.

HER TEARS:

She cries because it hurts.

She cries because she’s scared.

She cries because she wants him to fix it.

She cries and calls her friends.

She cries and posts sad quotes.

She cries and then she heals.

She cries 100 times for 100 guys.

Each tear is a reset button.

By Monday she’s over it.

By Friday she’s in love again.

Her heart is elastic.

It stretches. It snaps back.

She cries to let go.

HIS TEARS:

He doesn’t cry.

Not for girls. Not for pain.

Not for funerals. Not for fear.

Men die before they cry.

So if you see him cry over a woman?

That’s not sadness.

That’s a death.

His soul just left his body.

He cried in his car. Alone.

No friends. No posts. No playlist.

Just silence and a man

realizing he’d never be the same.

She was his peace.

She was his home.

She was the one he would’ve died for.

And she left.

He doesn’t cry because he lost her.

He cries because he lost himself

in her. And she took him with her.

A woman cries to mourn the relationship.

A man cries to mourn the version of himself

that believed in love.

She’ll love again. Deeper maybe.

Different definitely.

Women are built for renewal.

He won’t.

Not like that.

That switch got flipped.

That door got locked.

That part of him is buried with her.

From now on every girl gets 80 percent.

Because 20 percent died

the day he broke down in the shower

and no one heard him.

She cries and gets comfort.

He cries and gets colder.

She cries and gets softer.

He cries and gets steel.

She cries because she cares.

He cries because he’s done caring.

Forever.

If you made a man cry,

congratulations.

You killed something ancient.

You killed his faith.

You killed his hope.

You killed the boy who thought

love was real.

He’ll still date. Still marry. Still provide.

But he’ll never bleed again.

Because he learned:

Bleeding for her

means dying alone.

Her tears are rain.

They water the next flower.

His tears are acid.

They burn the whole garden down.

Never let it get there.

Because once a man cries for you,

he’s already gone.

I’ve tasted truth beneath the milk;

It curdles sweet to something vile—

A poison poured in practiced smile.

You speak—

And every letter leaves your tongue

Like something sharp, precise, and young;

A blade that does not shout or warn,

But slides in slow… then twists the thorn.

And oh—

How clean you keep your hands from blame,

How softly you disown the pain;

As if the wound I wear tonight

Was self-inflicted out of spite.

But I—

I felt each syllable descend,

A kiss disguised, a traitor friend;

They lined my ribs, they found their place,

And built a home behind my face.

I drank you in—

Like holy wine,

Believed your venom must be mine;

For love, I thought, was meant to burn,

A lesson only fools don’t learn.

Now every breath—

It tastes of steel,

A bitter truth I cannot heal;

For once you’ve swallowed someone’s lies,

They echo loud where silence dies.

You say

I’ve never known what pain can be—

How fragile I must seem to thee…

But darling—

I have bled in quiet rooms,

I’ve learned the language spoken in wounds;

I’ve worn the ache you never see—

And called it love…until it tasted back at me.

Just quietly sat there thinking to myself every single time ive ever opened up and been vulnerable it has always been turned against me, weaponised and used to twist a the dagger to prove a point.

The amount of hours I spend alone fishing, sitting in the woods and riding my bike. Lost in my head and thoughts cause its easier to keep it to myself than let anyone else see it. Safer to keep them to myself than let anyone see a it.