A Sting, A Splinter in the Skin

At first, I was terrified.

The thought of losing you

was like staring into an abyss I couldn’t cross.

I told myself I couldn’t survive without you,

that your presence was the air,

that your voice was the anchor.

I thought I needed you.

I thought the craving was proof of life.

But time is ruthless and honest.

And here I stand,

breathing freer without your shadow.

Happier in ways I didn’t expect

because nothing is hidden now,

nothing is censored.

I no longer bite back words,

no longer search for your approval

before I let myself speak.

I carry my truths openly,

and they no longer feel like sins

waiting for judgment.

Don’t mistake me..

the hurt is real.

The disappointment lingers.

The anger stirs when I trace the broken promises

stacked like wreckage at my feet.

But truth wins.

It steadies me,

teaches me how to grow from the sting.

I wanted you in my life.

I would have kept things neat,

tidy in boxes,

if it meant keeping the bond intact.

We made plans.

And then something shifted..

not in me,

but in you.

A distance crept in,

a mirror held up that made you flinch.

And instead of facing yourself,

you turned the blame my way.

But I saw too much.

I understood too deeply.

And so, you ran.

No! 

I did not create the divide.

You did.

You carved it with silence,

with absence,

with promises that dissolved on your tongue.

And now, I simply sigh.

Not with venom,

not with fire,

but with release.

I cut the red tether,

let it fall loose,

and carry myself where I belong..

to places that feed me,

to paths you could never walk.

Yes, it saddens me.

Plans were made.

Every promise broken.

That sting remains,

small and sharp,

a splinter in the skin of memory.

But even a sting teaches.

Even scars shape us.

And so I keep the sting,

not as bitterness,

but as reminder.

That I survived.

That I chose myself.

That I am still building

the kind of woman I was always meant to be.