Today felt like a blessing
not because it brought joy,
but because it brought clarity
through pain.
A painful reminder
that sometimes,
the worst betrayal comes
not from others,
but from ourselves.
I was greeted by the ignorance
of my own reality
and the sharp ache
of my own foolishness.
I thought honesty begot honesty.
That if I bared my soul,
you'd meet me halfway.
That if I spoke my truth,
you'd at least honor it
with your own.
I thought being transparent
was enough.
That being brave with my heart
would somehow teach you
how to hold it gently.
But the truth I thought I saw
was just an illusion.
One I painted in hope's color,
then framed in denial.
The "truth" was never real.
It was just what I wanted to believe.
A lie I held onto
because it felt better
than being alone
with reality.
But when the fog of my ignorance lifted,
when illusion crumbled,
I wasn't left with truth.
I was left empty.
Foolish.
Exposed.
And bruised from loving blindly.
I overdid it.
Again.
I over-expected,
overextended,
overreached for crumbs
and called them love.
And I under expected the truth.
Because I didn't want to see it.
Because maybe I thought
if I didn't name the pain,
it wouldn't exist.
But it did.
And it does.
And it aches in places
words still cannot reach.
My emotions betrayed me,
my heart misled me,
and now I sit here wondering
Where is the love I believed in?
Why does it feel like it was never meant for me?
Why does it always pass me by
as if I am invisible,
as if I'm not enough to be chosen?
Was I wrong to believe in love at all?
Maybe.
But even now,
even after everything,
a small voice still whispers:
"You weren't wrong to believe in it.
You were just wrong about who would give it to you."
And maybe one day,
the love I gave
so recklessly,
so freely,
will return to me.
Not in the arms of another,
but in the healing of myself.