After a lie, every truth feels like a gamble. Like trying to drink from a broken glass— you know it might cut you, but you're still thirsty for honesty.
So ask me why it’s so hard to trust. Ask me why “I promise” sounds like noise now, why I reread old conversations, why I stay quiet in rooms where I once felt safe.
I learned to heal without pretending I was fine, without forcing a laugh to fill the silence. I sat with the emptiness, let the loneliness breathe, and realized being alone is better than feeling alone around people who don’t care.
Because when I needed them most, they left. When my hands shook, when my voice cracked, when I had nothing to give— they disappeared. And I will never forget what it felt like to type a long message and delete it because I already knew the reply would be short.
I will never forget what it felt like to sit in a crowded room but feel invisible. To be there for everyone and watch no one show up for me.
But that’s how it goes. They don’t notice when you stop texting first. They don’t wonder why you’re quieter now. They don’t miss you— until they need something. Until they realize the energy feels different, until they scroll past your name and hesitate before reaching out.
And by then, you've already learned how to live without them.
