I came from a place of trying—
Trying to understand
what you refuse to say.
You held me with a heart so guarded,
called it love—
but it was wrapped in silence.
You warned me not to ask,
not to dig too deep,
but how could I love someone
I couldn’t even fully reach?
Even the surface I couldn’t scratch.
You told me you were all scars,
and I believed you.
But I also believed that
scars don’t have to bleed forever.
You said, “This is me.”
But is it really fair
to ask me to stay
for a version of you
that only shows in fragments?
I never asked you to change—
only to let me in.
But each time I tried,
you shut the door
and called it protecting me.
I wanted to be your peace,
but I became your proof
that not even love
was allowed past your pain.
One day,
you may be whole again—
but maybe by then,
I would’ve bled too much
waiting to be seen.
I never asked you to be perfect.
I only asked you to try.
And maybe, to you…
that was already too much.
—
*image: muhammad faiz zulkeflee / unsplash
