Abuse

--when he wanted to be loved. I stayed because there were still mornings where he'd kiss my forehead still nights when he cried and said "I don't know why we're like this, I love you more than anything, I'm trying my best" and I thought "maybe if I love him enough, he'll heal." "maybe if I stay soft, he'll stop throwing rocks." "maybe if I break myself smaller, I'll finally fit in his hands without spilling over." I knew love shouldn't feel like survival. Somewhere in the quiet he never found, I still wanted to believe. that I was more than his anger, more than his moods, more than the fear of making him upset. but I still want to believe in myself that this version of me, tired but still standing, is worth more than a love that leaves cuts on my heart. I don't have the answers, I'm still there. aching to be enough. I'm slowly clutching to learn to love the parts of me he tries to silence. learning to breathe without waiting for permission maybe one day, it'll be gone not because I stopped loved him but because I started loving myself and when I look in the mirror again. I won't see his voice behind me, only mine. Steady. Soft. Free.