from July to Here

From July to Hereby

MissT

In July, I opened the door to him.

He came with charm, with stories of pain,and I thought maybe I could be his peace.

But peace was never his language.Behind my back,he let his ex walk in —the one who still lingered like smoke.Four kisses in her texts,two in mine.Her threats to punch me,his whispers about her knickers.Humiliation dressed as conversation.Deception dressed as silence.And I stayed.Even as I wiped his plates,even as I carried the weight of his chaos.I stayed because I wanted love.But love wasn’t what he gave.He gave insults —cruelty sharp as glass —and a tongue that lashed the very bodythat held him through the night.Three addictions ruled him:booze, smoke, and the glow of fruit machines.But darker still was the way he fed on my kindness,and left me starving of his.Now it is October.Only three months gone,yet I feel I’ve aged a lifetime.Day two of silence,and it crushes my chest.I miss him —even though he betrayed me,even though he chose her shadow over my light,even though his lies hung like a noose around my neck.But July to here has shown me:I cannot compete with a bottle,or a cigarette’s ease,or flashing reels,or a ghost he refuses to release.I cannot love away his cruelty.I cannot beg my way into his respect.Three months were enough.Enough to see the truth.Enough to feel the pattern.Enough to know that silence is not weakness.It is armour.It is freedom.It is me, choosing myself.

Author’s Note (personal style):“From July to Here” traces the quiet unraveling of a relationship built on illusion, and the difficult grace of choosing oneself after betrayal. It began as a way of making sense of silence — both the silence imposed by someone else, and the kind you claim as your own when healing begins.