Maybe, that’s what people do
People keep loving.
Keep opening their hearts like it’s not the most dangerous thing to do.
And getting them broken—again and again—
like it’s just part of the deal.
I’ve seen it.
Felt it.
Learned it the hard way.
This is just what people do to each other,
Sometimes by choice,
Sometimes by accident.
But by the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter, does it?
Pain doesn’t care about the intention.
All that’s left are pieces.
All over the floor.
And me, still trying to gather what’s left of me—
months later.
Maybe I’m just blind.
Maybe I’m just soft.
They say the easiest way to stop the bleeding
Is to let someone else hold you.
Distract the pain with someone new.
Like a bandage.
Not healing—just covering.
Can I do that?
Should I?
Is that what you did?
I won’t be mad if you did.
I get it now.
It only took a broken heart to finally understand you.
Back then, I couldn’t figure out
Why you kept parts of yourself locked away—
Why you didn’t let me all the way in,
Even when I swore I’d be careful.
But now I know.
Because trying to love again after your heart’s been broken?
It’s terrifying.
It’s like trying to step into the ocean
after almost drowning—
you remember the way it pulled you under,
even when it looked calm on the surface.
So now I understand why you hesitated.
Why you flinched at softness.
Why you shut down when I got too close.
It only took me being the one
Picking up my own shattered pieces
To finally see the fear
Behind the walls you built.
Getting left after opening up like that—
It ruins something.
I won’t lie.
Part of me wants to shut everything down.
Close the blinds.
Lock the doors.
Turn my heart into stone and never let anyone in again.
Next time, when there is one—
I’ll be different.
Sharper.
Brighter.
Harder to touch.
I was so foolish for loving you like that.
But how could I have known?
I didn’t realise carrying your heart in the open
Was the most dangerous thing I could do.
They say you reap what you sow.
And maybe that’s true.
Maybe I planted something in someone
Who never wanted to grow anything real.
But for what it’s worth—
I understand you.
I understand the reason fir your distance,
Why you protected yourself.
Sometimes I wish I could be like you.
But the thought of making someone else feel like this
Makes my chest ache.
So maybe I’m soft.
Maybe I’m stupid.
But I still wonder—
Does that mean I’m a good person?
Or just an easy one to leave?
