her best kept secret

Rambles and musings of an overthinker.

[herhurthoneyheart]

Did I fail you? Did I betray the love you gave me by letting you go? I keep asking myself if you were ready, if you truly needed to leave, or if I was the one who decided for you. My heart aches with the weight of that choice, the unbearable thought that maybe you wanted just one more day, one more moment by my side. I look at your empty bed, your favorite toy untouched, and I wonder if you understand—if you know that I did it because I love you, not because I wanted to say goodbye. I hope, wherever you are beyond the rainbow bridge, you can forgive me. I hope you know I held you until the end because I never wanted you to feel alone. And I hope, more than anything, that when we meet again, you'll still look at me with the same love in your eyes.

[herhurthoneyheart]

Once you hurt the person you love, something changes forever.

A switch flips. A wall goes up. A part of them pulls back in a way you might never get close to again. Not because they want to.

Because their nervous system remembers the hit. Their heart remembers the moment they realized you weren’t who they thought you were. Their mind remembers the questions they never had to ask before.

People act like trust is something you can glue back together. It’s not. Once it cracks, it loses its shape. It doesn’t sit the same. It doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t hold the same weight it once did.

You can’t undo the moment someone stops feeling safe with you. You can’t erase the second their chest dropped and their stomach sank. Once that version of them is gone, it’s gone.

Because trust isn’t rebuilt the “right way” after it breaks. It becomes guarded. It becomes cautious. It becomes something they protect instead of something they offer freely.

Hurt someone deep enough and you don’t just change how they see you.

You change how they move, love, react, and protect themselves for the rest of the relationship. That’s the part people never talk about.

[herhurthoneyheart]

we loved like fire,

too much, too fast,

burned the walls down

and called it forever.

but forever cracked in our hands.

you hurt me.

i hurt you.

we made each other bleed

and then kept kissing the wounds

like that would make them heal.

still, even after the breaking,

even after the silence

and the sharp edges of goodbye,

i look at you

and i don’t just see pain–

i see the place we started.

the small smiles,

the nervous laughter,

the weightless way my chest felt

when your name was still new.

so i’m not asking for forgiveness.

i’m not asking to rewind.

i’m asking this:

let’s be strangers again.

let me meet you on a street corner

like i don’t know the sound of your sobs.

let me shake your hand

like i haven’t held your breaking heart.

let me fall in love

like it’s the first time,

not the aftermath.

because maybe this time,

we won’t ruin it.

maybe this time,

we’ll grow slow,

hold carefully,

love without leaving scars.

and if not–

at least we’ll know

we tried to begin again,

not where we ended,

but where we first said hello.

[herhurthoneyheart]

you said you’d call

like last week, like every week

and i waited

i waited until my eyes burned

until the dark filled my room

and your name never appeared

i told you

months ago

how much i felt

you said it wasn’t the right time

so i waited

because waiting felt safer than losing you

i sent messages

long paragraphs, everything spilling out

and you replied

two short sentences

polite, careful, respectful

enough to keep me close

but never yours

enough to make me hope

enough to keep me on the edge

of wanting more

you initiate conversations

once a week

then disappear in the middle

leaving me to wait

another day, maybe two

pretending i understood

pretending i didn’t feel blue

buying silence

in the name of peace

i sent confessions

questions i barely had answers for

they sat there, unread

so i deleted them

lied to myself

but of course you knew

and you didn’t ask why

i want to understand you

more than i want to be understood

i don’t want to lose you

because i feel too much

or because i can’t read you right

maybe i lack years

maybe i lack patience

too raw, too exposed

too willing to hold space

for something unsure

but until when

should i wait

for texts that come late

for calls that don’t come at all

for you

to meet me

somewhere between wanting me

and honest enough to set me free

[herhurthoneyheart]

There is someone in my life whose presence stirs in me a devotion I cannot contain. To care for them feels less like a choice and more like the rhythm of my own breathing, natural, inevitable, eternal. I want to shield them from every harshness of the world, to soften the edges that have been cut at them for too long.

I want to learn the language of their silences, to know when their heart is weary and hold it steady in my hands until it beats freely again. I wish to be the quiet place they can return to, where nothing is demanded of them except to simply be, wholly and unashamedly themselves.

I long to trace the beauty they often hide, to remind them that their tenderness is not weakness but a strength brighter than anything I have ever known. To see them laugh without restraint, to watch the light return to their eyes when they had thought it gone, this is the kind of love that fuels me.

I do not wish to take, only to give. To pour warmth into the spaces where they have felt cold, to honor their depths without fear, to stand beside them in both stillness and storm. If they falter, I will steady them; if they rise, I will celebrate with the fullness of my soul.

In them, I see a sacredness that deserves to be cherished, not hidden away. And in caring for them, I discover the purest reflection of who I am, a love that asks for nothing but the chance to give, and give, and give again.

[herhurthoneyheart]

I ache for you. You haunt the softest parts of me.

Hurting. Hoping. Hallucinating.

Tell me now. Do you feel this too? I’m here. But are you?

[herhurthoneyheart]

Quick question.

Are we both waiting for each other, or am I just imagining things?

[herhurthoneyheart]

I may not always say it out loud. I may not always know how to name what stirs inside me when I look at you, but it’s there.

Always there.

You may not see the way my heart pauses when your name lights up my screen.

You may not hear the way my breath softens when I think of you in the quiet hours,

long after the world has gone to sleep and I’m still sitting with all the feelings I never learned how to place.

But you are in everything I do.

You are in the way I wait just a little longer.

In the way I answer gently, even when the world makes me sharp.

In the way I carry your name inside my poems without ever needing to write it down.

I don’t feel loudly, I never have.

I feel like dusk.

Like the soft hour between light and dark when the sky sighs and no one else notices.

I feel in stillness, in glances, in the way I remember how you like your silence kept intact.

I feel you in the spaces between words.

In the things I don’t say but feel anyway.

You are everything.

Not in the kind of way people throw that word around, but in the way that everything in me — every thread, every pulse, every ache and bloom, somehow always leads back to you.

When I write, even if the names are changed,

even if the story is fiction,

you’re there.

Your shadow, your gaze, your laughter tucked in between paragraphs.

Like a secret I keep sharing with the page.

My feelings may be quiet. It may be subtle. But don’t mistake its softness for absence.

It’s in the way I remember the smallest things about you.

The way you cover that mouth when you’re trying not to smile when you notice how uncomfortable I am whenever you look at me.

The way you speak oh so slow even when you’re excited and I’m still catching up with what you’re saying because I catch my breath everytime I look at you.

The way your eyes sometimes go distant, and I know you’re wandering somewhere I can’t follow.

but I wait anyway.

I wait for you like I always have.

Even when I’m tired.

Even when I’m aching.

Even when I don’t understand why I still care this much.

You’re everything to me.

Not because you’ve asked to be.

But because my soul recognized you long before I had words for it.

You don’t have to ask if I still care for you.

You don’t have to search for signs.

Just look at the way I stay.

The way I soften.

The way I never walk away, even when it would be easier.

You’re not a phase.

You’re not a feeling I’ll outgrow.

You’re the constant.

The still point in my spinning.

The hush in my storm.

The center of my pulse.

And even if the world never knows,

even if I never shout it from rooftops,

know this:

I feel you in a thousand ways

before I ever touched your skin.

And I will feel you and this

long after the last word is written.

Quietly.

Steadily.

Always.

For you.

[herhurthoneyheart]

My feelings for you haven’t changed. They simply folded themselves in — like light pressed between the pages of dusk. Not gone. Only hidden beneath the weight of everything I couldn't say.

You see, feelings like mine doesn’t burn out. It flickers sometimes, caught between breath and breakdown. Between what I want to show and what I fail to say. But it's there. Still there. Breathing beneath the rubble of my silence.

Even when my body curls into stillness, when my hands forget how to reach, when my voice stumbles over itself — I still carry you. I still look for you in the smallest things. In the pause between words, in the way my chest tightens at the thought of you not knowing.

Perhaps you think I’ve drifted. But I never left. I was only swallowed by the tide of things I didn’t know how to explain. There are days my soul feels like a room without doors, echoing with everything I feel but can’t yet offer with steady hands.

You didn’t lose me. I’ve just been quiet. Watching you from the quietest corners, the way dusk loves the sea — without needing to announce itself, only hoping you still see the glow.

I still like you. Not less. Not differently. Just deeper. More silently than before. And maybe that’s the hardest part — feeling so much, but not knowing how to say it without shattering again.

But if you pause, if you look just beneath the surface of all this quiet — you’ll feel it. I promise, it’s still me. Still here. Still choosing you.

Always.

[herhurthoneyheart]

Don’t get your hopes up, heart. Stop those butterflies. Remove that silly smile.

But how do you stop the happiness when it’s all you ever wanted?

[herhurthoneyheart]

I don’t think there’s a need to thank me. I believe I’ll always make time for you. No matter how loud the silence echoes between us and we don’t talk, I’ll always answer when you reach out.

Don’t thank me. Because my time is yours.

Such is the reality of a heart longing for something it cannot reach.

[herhurthoneyheart]

Let’s trust that everything will fall into place without us forcing it..

[herhurthoneyheart]

what do you mean by relapse?

It’s what I call those moments wherein you suddenly feel overwhelmingly sad after a time of recovery. Those sudden burst of tears and times of weakness when you feel that you miss them deeply and want to talk to them. Relapse.

[herhurthoneyheart]

who are you and where are you from i love your words so much you’ve truly helped me healed from an old friend

I appreciate messages like yours. My only goal is to share the things I feel and hope that it also speaks to others.

I’m also still moving on and healing from a friend (?). Relapse is always around the corner, but as long as we’re moving forward, I’m sure we’ll be okay. 💜

[herhurthoneyheart]

They wanted each other—badly. Not just in a romantic way, but in that rare, soul-deep kind of way where everything else gets quieter when you’re near the person who just gets you. Their connection didn’t need explaining. It was in the way their eyes lingered a beat too long, in the comfort of silence between them, in the weight of everything left unsaid.

But sometimes, wanting someone isn’t enough. Not when life’s timing is off. Not when two people are still healing in ways they don’t even realize.

77 cared about 66, deeply. But she struggled with emotional openness. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel—it’s that she didn’t know how to show those feelings. Somewhere along the way, life taught her to stay guarded, to carry the weight alone, to protect herself by keeping others at arm’s length. Vulnerability scared her. Letting someone in felt like risking too much of herself, like maybe she’d disappear if she did.

And 66? She felt everything—maybe a little too much, too deeply. Her mind was always spinning, reading into silences, dissecting tone, searching for meaning in every pause. She overthought everything because she was trying to protect a heart that had been hurt before. She needed closeness, clarity, reassurance. Not out of insecurity, but because emotional connection was how she felt safe, how she loved.

They loved differently. 77 stayed guarded, careful. While 66 loved with fire and needed to feel fully seen. 77 didn’t know how to open up. While 66 didn’t know how to feel okay without that openness. And slowly, all those little misunderstandings stacked up like invisible walls. 66 took 77’s silence personally. 77 mistook 66’s longing for clarity as pressure. So 77 pulled back, and 66 felt more alone.

Their connection was real. No doubt about that. But so were the emotional walls between them.

In the end, there was no dramatic ending. No big fight. Just a slow drift. A quiet sadness. A growing realization that love alone isn’t always enough—not when emotional safety is missing, not when understanding keeps slipping through the cracks.

They didn’t walk away because they didn’t care. They walked away because love without emotional readiness becomes a constant ache. Because sometimes, even the strongest feelings can’t fix what hasn’t yet healed.

Their story was real. Messy. Beautiful. Painful. And it’s one that lives deep in the heart—a reminder of what it means to want love, and to still not quite know how to hold it.

[herhurthoneyheart]

I have to let go of the thing that’s breaking me..

Even if it breaks me to let you go..

[herhurthoneyheart]

Saying to yourself every night:

“This will be the last time..”