The Girl Who Was Too Kind to Love Me Properly-
just soft enough to haunt me
and kind enough to keep the wound from healing.
But just stood there in that quiet way of hers, like a bus stop I kept returning to, even when I knew there were no goddamn buses coming.
Iâd vanish for months, crawl into holes, burn myself down to the last nerve, and when I crawled back out, sheâd be there with a
I miss you too, and like a fool Iâd mistake that for salvation.
Kindness is a dangerous thing for men like me. We take it as a promise. We confuse it with love. We build homes inside it and then complain when the roof leaks.
She never loved me, not the way I needed, not the way a man who keeps breaking needs to be held.
But she never pushed me away either. Thatâs the trick, you see the women who destroy you arenât the monsters. Theyâre the gentle ones. The ones who say take care and mean it.
The ones who let you return without questions, without punishments, without expectations.
Those are the ones who turn your chest into an unfinished room.
And maybe thatâs why I keep disappearing. Not because I donât care.
Hell, I care too much. I care like a drunk grips the bottle even after the glass shatters.
I disappear because if I stay long enough, Iâll hand her the match and ask her to burn me.
And she will. Not out of cruelty. But out of that soft, gentle, thoughtless kindness that never knew how to love a man like me in the first place. âR. somewhere between a train station and a ghost.
