And then here I am,
standing at the edge of my reality,
not falling, not moving forward,
just standing still with everything I gave behind me.
I gave trust.
I gave love.
And love came back better than I ever imagined,
warmer, deeper, sweeter than I was prepared for.
But my expectations returned as disappointment,
quiet and heavy,
settling into places I didn't know were still tender.
Trust came back as trust at first,
soft and reassuring,
only to slowly reshape itself into doubt,
then distance,
then something I could no longer hold without hurting.
Everything felt new.
Everything felt real.
Everything felt sweet,
the kind of sweet that convinces you
this time is different,
this time will last.
But whatever it was,
it was never meant to stay sweet until the end.
Somewhere between one moment and the next,
everything changed.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
Just quietly,
the most dangerous kind of change.
We became more mature
than we were a month before,
but less loving too.
We learned how to be careful
instead of how to be close.
We wrapped our emotions in heavy coats
and pretended the cold didn't reach us.
We hid our smiles behind our eyes,
and when we smiled,
it was only with our lips,
careful, restrained,
too rehearsed to be called real.
Not smiling out of joy,
not even out of fear,
but out of habit…
out of survival.
Love stopped being a place to rest
and became something to manage.
So now I wonder
if life is testing me again,
stretching me,
asking how much I can bend
before I finally choose myself.
Is this where I hold on longer
and hope sweetness returns?
Or is this where I accept
that not everything that begins beautifully
is meant to end gently?
I don't know what to do now.
I only know I'm standing here,
at the edge of what felt real,
holding memories that still ache,
asking myself the hardest question of all:
Do I step back into what's familiar,
or do I walk forward
without knowing
what will catch me next?