This doesn’t ask to be understood. Doesn’t beg for your love. Raw, cracked, and honest. It holds the weight of love, of loss, of wanting something that was never theirs to have. It carries the bruises of memory, the ache of things left unsaid, and the quiet hum of hope that refuses to die.

This doesn’t dress itself up in pretty words. It’s bare. It’s heavy. It remembers every door that was closed, every bridge that was burned, and the hands that once held it. Violent, unsure, relentless.

You won’t find easy endings here. This is built from moments that scarred, that healed, that shaped me into something worth holding, worth letting go. Still standing. And so are you.