I waited too long
for you to choose me
so long, I let the waiting
turn into wounds.
I let you pull me apart, quietly,
piece by piece,
and for a while
I hated myself
for staying.
Then you left
and I learned how to hate you instead.
Now you’re back,
and I tried to build walls,
sharp and unbreakable
but it turns out
I didn’t need them.
Because something in me
doesn’t reach for you
the way it used to.
You showed me who you are
just a little too late.
And now, even though
we’re standing at a beginning,
it feels like you’ve already
broken something in me
that won’t quite fit back together.
I don’t think I can love you
the way you want
not fully,
not without remembering.
I keep wondering
if I’m just another lesson
people learn from
if I’ll be one for you too.
Because being your second choice
feels like swallowing glass
with a smile
beautiful on the outside,
bleeding where no one sees.
And the strangest part is
I hate myself
for still liking you…
but I like myself a little more
for finally learning
how to hate you back.