Hands That Should Have Held You

This is the truth I never let myself say out loud. A confession about choosing the wrong person to trust, and the wreckage it left behind.

I am not a villain.

But I hurt you.

And that might be worse.

Some days I carry it quietly,

a pulse behind my ribs,

a swarm I can’t silence.

I told her.

And it wasn’t because I wanted to ruin us,

or because I wanted her more.

It was because I wanted her

to care.

I thought if she saw me in pain

maybe she would stay this time.

I gave her something sacred

because I still wanted to believe

she was capable of love.

I should have known.

She was a match to every bridge.

But I lit it.

And you burned with it.

The secret wasn’t mine anymore.

It became gossip,

and whispers,

and judgment

from mouths that never deserved the truth.

And you,

the one who gave me your heart without armor,

were left bleeding.

I never meant for her to hold it.

I only wanted someone

to finally hold me.

But all I did

was let go of you.

I chose the wrong hands.

And now mine are empty.

And every night they shake,

remembering what they should have held.