Maybe this is where understanding begins.
You made the decision I couldn’t bring myself to make.
You took responsibility.
Just not in the way I longed for,
nor in the way I needed.
I should be angry with you.
Perhaps that would explain everything.
But it never was anger.
I simply couldn’t do anything else.
I was trying to protect what was left of me.
And still, I return to the facts.
Silence.
No message.
No reaching out.
Your hands are tied by the choice you made.
Yet I can’t help but wonder if there are moments when regret finds you too.
Those fleeting glances.
Those stolen winks.
The warmth you offer when no one else is watching.
So ambiguous.
And yet, I cherish every fragment of it.
I should be furious.
I should want nothing more to do with you.
Instead, all I find myself wanting is to be close to you again.
Eight months have passed,
and I still don’t understand why my heart refuses to follow what my mind already knows.
Maybe…
maybe this is where understanding begins.