I Loved Her Wrong + This Is What You Meant

I Loved Her Wrong (His version)

She was wildfire with a soft voice,

and I was just trying to keep warm.

She offered all the right things,

but I’d been built by every storm.

I told her she was precious—

and I meant it in the moment.

But moments slip like water,

and I never learned containment.

She wanted more than metaphors,

wanted doors that didn’t swing.

But I was raised on leaving things,

on breaking what still sings.

I watched her sleep and wished for peace,

but peace has always bored me.

She loved like a lighthouse—steady.

I drifted ‘cause I’m stormy.

It’s not her fault I couldn't stay.

It’s not mine that I tried.

We were doomed the day we started—

some hearts are better left untied.

I hope she hates me gently.

I hope she writes her truth.

I never meant to hurt her—

just didn’t know what else to do.

This Is What You Meant (Reply to his version)

Oh, I read your little poem.

Cute how you dressed the blame in silk.

Spilled ink like confession,

but your hands are still clean, still cold as milk.

You say you loved me in your way—

which is just a polished way to say

you took what you could,

called it art,

then walked away

before the gallery closed.

You remember the soft light,

the golden days,

but leave out how you flinched

when I asked you to stay.

You built me a kingdom

with trapdoors and glass,

sang lullabies with your fingers crossed,

then called it my fault

when it didn’t last.

Don’t write me a tragedy

from your high-gloss gloom,

don’t claim I was lightning

when you always left the room.

I was the truth

you didn’t dare hold.

You were the warmth

that always ran cold.

You say you were broken—

so was I.

Difference is,

I never made it your crime.

So write your verses,

draw your sighs.

I know what you meant

between the lines:

That I saw through you

and you hated it.

That I stayed loyal

and you wasted it.

You didn’t lose me.

You gave me away—

and now you miss the girl

who saw you and stayed.