”villain in a story I didn’t write”
I never asked for this.
Not your love.
Not your silence.
Not the way you walked out and made it look like I was the one
who crossed the line.
But here I am—
grieving the loss of something
I never even touched.
You left me anyway.
As if I wanted this.
As if I invited you to fall.
As if I planned to wreck everything
just by existing too close to you.
I hate that you made me feel like the villain
for a story I never agreed to write.
You were supposed to be my safe place.
The last one left.
The one who swore you’d stand beside me,
even when everyone else turned their backs.
But you’re gone too.
Because of a feeling
you never had the courage to say out loud—
but still blamed me for.
I didn’t ask you to love me.
I would’ve thrown it back at you
if it meant keeping you here,
if it meant keeping us from shattering like this.
But now I’m left picking up the shards alone.
Still bleeding for something
that wasn’t even mine to begin with.
I miss you.
I miss the way you made me feel safe—
like someone finally cared enough to fight for me.
But maybe you never fought for me at all.
Maybe you only ever fought yourself.
And when it got too hard,
you just let me drown in the wreckage you left behind.
I hate you for leaving.
I hate myself for missing you anyway.
But most of all—
I hate that I still wonder
if you miss me too.
