Poignancy
I have spent my entire life building a fortress out of the silence, layering polite smiles over the rotting beams of things I never said. You always thought I was quiet, perhaps a little shy, but the truth is, I was terrified that if I opened my mouth, the truth would burn my tongue.
I never told you that I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I loved you too much, and I was watching myself turn into a monster—a desperate, grasping thing that fed on your certainty because I had none of my own. I sabotaged us. I sat in the center of our happiness and whispered that it was all temporary, that I was a ticking time bomb of mediocrity.
And the worst part? When I finally did break us, I felt a shameful, sickening sense of relief.
It’s been five years, and I still wake up at 3 AM looking for you in the bed, only to find the cold, hard reality of my own making. I am sorry that my healing had to cost you your peace. I am sad that I am still, even now, writing this to you in a diary instead of bringing it to your doorstep.
The silence is still here, and I am still building the walls. I am afraid that if I stop, I will finally have to meet the person I am when I am not hiding.
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