Stayed to Bleed

Funny, isn’t it? That it’s already been three months since we fell apart, for what I believe was the second and certainly the last time. Time slipped by so quickly, yet I still remember how I used to collapse in my mother’s arms, screaming in agony, demanding answers, of what did I do to deserve such pain when all I ever did was love you in a way no one else ever could?

Being perceived as evil and unhinged, when all I had ever been was nothing but loving and selfless, crushed me. 

I never spoke of it ever since. Your confession of what you did behind my back? I will take it to the grave. No one knows, not even my closest friends. It was too grotesque, too scarring, too heavy to ever give a voice to.

Of course, “we moved on” would be the first thing to fall so effortlessly from your lips if people asked about us. Because moving on was always simple for the one who was loved. While I was the one left to survive. I was the one crawling towards the light, drenched in blood, dragging myself forward when I had nothing left. I was the one who begged endlessly, like a woman stripped of her dignity, of her pride, as though I would wither and die without the poison of your love.

People tell me that at the very least I gave my everything. But if I could, I would go back in time and erase you entirely. I would slap my younger self for her blindness, for her lack of self-respect, for ever believing a man like you was worthy of love.

It was humiliating, the way you treated me. 

But what was more humiliating, still,

was the fact that i put up with it.

- 2 September 2025