He was full of lies, distant—
and so I became the same.
She held the truth with kindness
That turned into her suffering,
Then I learnt to suffer too.
They separated,
but their parts remained in me.
He betrayed love,
and left his anger burning inside me.
She endured love,
and so I carry her grief like a second skin.
I don’t escape them.
I repeat them.
Her suffering settles in me,
and his rage burns the inside of me.
What we are is distance.
What we were is damage that never heals.
What we’ll always be—
a cycle I carry,
their shadows living through my blood.
And maybe one day,
I’ll be the one
to break what made me—
to stop lying, to soothe the grief,
to turn anger into something
that doesn’t hurt.
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