I wanted to be wrong about you. (Poem)

(But I wasn’t)

I didn’t want to believe it.
Not the pattern.
Not the other women.
Not the silence that followed every time I asked you to meet me halfway.

I kept hoping you’d prove me wrong.
That this time, you’d stay.
That this time, you wouldn’t run to someone else.
That maybe—just maybe—you’d show up for me the way I kept showing up for you.

But you didn’t.
You never did.

The moment I needed air, you claimed I was abandoning you.
The second I asked for space, you filled it with someone else.

And still, I blamed myself.
Told myself I was “too much.”
Or “not enough.”
Tried harder. Gave more.
Hoped louder.

But your need for constant reassurance drowned my own voice.
Your loneliness became my responsibility.
And your guilt trips started to feel like love.

You said I was isolating you.
But I was the one isolated—from peace, from rest, from myself.

I didn’t want to hate you.
And I still don’t.
But I’m grieving the person I thought you could be.
The version I fought for.
The love I built in my head while I was losing myself in real life.

This isn’t about bitterness.
This is about truth.

I wanted to be wrong about you.
But I was right.
And now, I’m done explaining why