Raw.Real.Recovered.

How long did you know?

How long were you going to let me think we had a future—while you were already walking away in your mind?

How long were you going to let me believe I was something real to you, something steady, something safe?

How long were you going to stand there, let me look you in the eyes, and pour out everything inside me—while you quietly braced to leave?

I said things to you I had never even let myself say out loud. Things I never planned on giving away to anyone, let alone someone who saw them as disposable.

How long were you going to let me love you with everything I had, while giving me only the parts of you that cost nothing?

You let me believe in us.

You let me dream.

You let me build a life in my head that you had no plans of staying in.

That’s the part that guts me.

You didn’t just break my heart.

You watched me hand it to you, trembling but honest, and you still took it.

Knowing damn well you were going to drop it.

You could’ve stopped.

You could’ve been real.

You could’ve told me before I buried pieces of myself in you.

But you didn’t.

And now I’m standing here in the wreckage you left, wondering what parts of it were ever real.

So here’s what I’m done doing:

I’m done romanticizing confusion.

I’m done accepting crumbs and calling it care.

I’m done mistaking “almost” for effort.

Next time, I’ll trust the silence more than the words.

I’ll trust the patterns more than the promises.

And I’ll trust myself more than I ever trusted someone who couldn’t choose me with their whole chest.

Because I loved with my whole damn heart.

And you? You played pretend with someone else’s future.

But I’ll heal. I’ll rebuild.

And you’ll always be the one who knew—and didn’t stop me.