The Inheritance of Broken Promises
A lie rarely dies with the one who told it.
It lingers,
finding a home in the next person
who dares to believe.
Promises made too easily
leave strangers paying debts
they never agreed to carry.
The next honest voice
must answer for someone else's silence.
I've seen trust change its face.
It doesn't disappear
it just learns to stand farther back,
arms folded,
waiting for proof instead of hope.
People who were once gentle
begin to speak like they're expecting the worst.
Not because bitterness is who they are,
but because disappointment kept introducing itself
under different names.
The wounds no one can see
are often the ones that speak the loudest.
You hear them instead
in the pause before they answer,
in the way every promise is questioned,
in how they leave before hope asks them to stay.
Eventually,
anger starts sounding like wisdom,
and silence feels safer
than believing one more beautiful lie.
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