nathan91
I thought I was angry at you,
for leaving,
for the silence,
for all the things
you never said.
But maybe,
if I’m honest,
I’m angry at myself.
For the words I should have spoken.
For the moments I didn’t understand.
For the times I held on too tightly,
and the times I let you slip away.
And maybe you’re angry too
not because you stopped caring,
but because caring became painful.
Four years don’t disappear
just because two people break.
Sometimes love stays
in the places anger lives.
Maybe that’s why
we keep finding our way
back to the same door.
Not because everything is fixed.
But because somewhere inside us,
neither one of us
has completely stopped hoping.
And if I could say just one thing,
without fear,
without asking anything from you
I’d say:
I’m not angry at you anymore.
I’m angry at myself
for not knowing how to love you
the way you needed
when I had the chance.
