Dec 5, 2025
After everything— the echoes, the aftermath, the sting— where do all these hurtful words go? Is there a place I can bury them, a quiet box I can lock tight so they don’t come crawling back when the night gets too still and I’m just about to drift away?
Is there a corner of the universe where I can throw them, far enough that even memory won’t bother to follow?
What do I do with the shards— the pieces of me left splintered by the things you said? Where do I tuck them so they stop cutting every part of who I’m trying to be?
How do I move forward without seeing myself through the warped mirror of your wounded vision?
And tell me— how do I keep loving you while knowing, deep down, that none of this should have ever been?
