You told me,
"I always forgive you… but I never forget."
For a moment,
everything inside me went quiet.
I didn't know
whether to feel relieved
that you forgave me,
or terrified
that every mistake I ever made
still lives inside your heart.
Then you said
you already knew what was coming.
That every time
our love became difficult,
every time our emotions became too heavy,
every time our arguments swallowed us whole.
I would say,
"Let's end this."
Or,
"I'm not afraid of what happens after this, even if it means losing you."
You said you expected it.
As though those words
had become a pattern
you no longer questioned.
What you never knew
was that those words
were never a destination.
They were cries
from someone overwhelmed.
A heart speaking louder than wisdom.
A frightened soul
hoping someone would hold it still.
Deep inside,
I wasn't waiting for you to let me go.
I was waiting
for you to remind me
that love doesn't walk away
when emotions become unbearable.
I was hoping
you would hold my hand,
look me in the eyes,
and say,
"We're angry, but we're not ending."
"We'll get through this."
"I'm not giving up on us."
Instead,
you answered,
"Okay then. Make sure you take it to the grave."
Those words
didn't end the argument.
They broke something
I didn't know could break.
Because in that moment,
I realized
you believed my worst words
more than you believed my heart.
Then you told me,
"If you keep saying things like this, it means you never truly loved me. It means you never intended to stay."
I wanted to tell you
how wrong that was.
How someone
who never loved you
wouldn't still be here,
trying to explain,
trying to fix,
trying to be understood
with tears caught between every sentence.
I wanted to tell you
that loving someone
and expressing pain poorly
are not the same thing.
That I was never threatening
to leave because I stopped loving you.
I was speaking
from fear,
hurt,
frustration,
and emotions
I didn't know how to carry.
But every time
I tried to explain,
my voice disappeared beneath yours.
The more I spoke,
the less you heard.
The more I reached for understanding,
the further it seemed to drift away.
Then you said,
"This keeps happening. It's repeated so many times that I don't even need to write it down anymore. It's already stuck in my head."
I couldn't argue anymore.
Not because I agreed with everything.
But because I finally understood
how deeply I had hurt you.
So I became silent.
Not because I had nothing to say.
But because every word
felt too late.
I carried the guilt.
You carried the memories.
And somewhere between
your inability to forget
and my inability to explain,
we both became prisoners
of the same pain.
If only you could have seen
that behind every reckless sentence
was someone terrified
of not being enough.
If only I had known
how deeply those words
were carving themselves
into your heart.
Perhaps
we would have fought each other less,
and fought for each other more.
Because despite everything—
I never wanted to leave.
I only wanted reassurance
from the person
I was so afraid of losing.
And now,
I sit here wondering—
Can love survive
when forgiveness remembers everything...
and explanations
are never truly heard?
