I don’t know if this is love or a line of slow self-destruction that I’ve mistaken for something beautiful. When you’re kind, you remind me of the person I thought you were. But then you turn. Your words cut deep. The silences grow, and I’m left picking up pieces of myself I barely recognise anymore.
I know this isn’t healthy. I see how toxic we’ve become and how we pull each other down, yet I can’t let go. Why do I keep coming back to the same pain, the same wounds that never really heal?
Maybe I’m afraid of who I’ll be without you. Maybe I’m still hoping you’ll change. Or maybe I’ve confused suffering with love for so long that I don’t know how to want anything else.
I need to make a proper choice right now. One that’s good for me.
Discover more from Michael Forman – Author of Dark Fiction & Drama
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