DIS-RESPECT

She loved him—

like the way you hold your breath before a storm,

hopeful, full of expectation.

He said she was everything,

but in the quiet moments,

he was already gone.

Not physically,

but emotionally.

He was distant,

and she could feel it,

like the coldness of a shadow that never left.

She waited for him to look at her

like she mattered.

For him to see the cracks in her smile,

the way her eyes searched his for meaning,

for connection.

But he never did.

He only saw what he wanted to see—

her love, her loyalty, her patience.

And she gave it,

willingly,

because she thought it would be enough.

She thought it had to be.

But his silence was a loud scream

that echoed through their home.

The quiet dinners,

the empty conversations,

the way he’d tune out

whenever she spoke her heart.

She never felt heard,

just... present.

Like a ghost beside him,

always there,

but never really seen.

It was the little things,

the way he’d forget

the promises made with a smile.

"I'll be home soon," he'd say,

but soon never came.

She’d sit there, waiting,

long after the clock had ticked

into hours that felt like years.

He’d return,

with excuses dressed in words

that felt like poison.

"I was busy," he'd say,

but to her, it felt like a betrayal.

Not the busy schedule,

but the fact that he thought she’d accept it.

That she’d let it slide,

again.

She’d cry in the stillness,

wishing for his touch,

his words to make the pain stop.

But he never noticed,

never cared enough to ask why.

He’d just brush her tears aside,

thinking they were temporary,

unimportant.

He’d laugh it off,

and she’d sit there,

numb,

wondering if she was even worth the effort.

It was all a game to him,

an endless cycle of give and take,

but she was always the one giving.

She gave love,

she gave time,

she gave patience,

and all he gave her in return

was distance.

It wasn’t just the physical absence,

but the emotional one,

the way he detached

and never tried to reconnect.

Her heart ached for him to see her,

to feel her,

but he was blind to it all.

And it killed her piece by piece.

Then came the day she found him—

holding someone else’s hand.

And it wasn’t the betrayal that hurt,

though that wound ran deep.

It was the realization

that she had never been enough.

Not for him.

Not in any way that mattered.

She had given him everything,

but he had given her nothing but silence.

And she wasn’t sure which hurt more—

the act of betrayal,

or the knowledge that

she’d been invisible to him the entire time.

She could feel herself slipping away,

like sand through her fingers,

the more she tried to hold onto something

that was never truly hers to keep.

He had disrespected her,

treated her like an afterthought,

and in doing so,

he had broken her in ways

she couldn’t even explain.

She stopped crying after a while.

The tears no longer came,

because she had nothing left to shed.

Her heart grew quiet,

but the pain didn’t fade.

It lingered,

sitting in the pit of her chest,

a constant reminder

that love wasn’t enough

when the other person never cared to meet you halfway.

She learned to survive,

but she’d never forget.

The woman she was,

the love she gave,

the disrespect she endured—

it shaped her in ways

she’d never be the same from.

He walked away with his hands full,

and she was left picking up the pieces.

And though it broke her,

though it crushed her to see him leave,

she knew she’d find herself again.

She had to.

But she would never forget the weight of his absence,

how heavy it felt,

how it nearly drowned her.

And she would never forget

that sometimes,

love isn’t enough

when the other person doesn’t even see you.