a thank you carved from the hurt you left behind

i want to thank you, though saying that feels strange in a mouth still full of hurt. gratitude shouldn’t live this close to heartbreak, but somehow it does. somehow it rises right alongside the ache, the confusion, the betrayal, the grief of being turned into someone i never was. when you came into my life, you did it gently. quietly. you didn’t force yourself into my world; you simply fit. you were warm, steady, grounding in a way i hadn’t felt in a long time. i trusted you without even realizing i was doing it. i softened for you because something about you felt safe. i didn’t expect the story to twist the way it did. i didn’t expect the tenderness that started between us to turn into something sharp enough to cut straight through me. but before all the breaking, the way you showed up mattered, and i’m grateful for that part — the part where love felt soft.

i saw your wounds long before you admitted they were there. i saw the hesitation, the quiet flinches, the shadows left behind by someone who broke you in ways i couldn’t understand but still felt the echoes of. you carried your past like it was welded to your ribs, always ready to warn you of danger that didn’t exist anymore. i never held that against you. i held you through it. i tried to show you that history didn’t have to shape the future you built with someone new. i thought patience and honesty would be enough to untangle the fear. i thought love — real love — would be enough to rewrite the stories you kept replaying in your mind. but fear is a powerful storyteller, louder than truth, louder than connection, louder than anything i could offer.

everything fell apart more violently than i ever imagined. one moment we were fine, and the next i was staring at rules — ten of them — handed to me like consequences for wounds i never inflicted. i wasn’t asking for anything outrageous; i only wanted friendship, connection, community. i only wanted to breathe without being treated like a threat. you didn’t see innocence; you saw danger where none existed. you saw the shadow of someone else standing where i was. i kept saying it wasn’t fair, that i wasn’t her, that i shouldn’t have to carry the weight of betrayals that weren’t mine. i kept repeating it because i believed — foolishly, maybe — that you could separate your past from your present. but you couldn’t. fear won. and when fear wins, truth loses every time.

then came the moment that truly broke me open. the part of the story that still makes my stomach twist. you didn’t come to me with your fears. you didn’t ask me anything. you didn’t give me the chance to reassure you, to steady you, to tell you the truth again. instead, you went behind my back. you reached out to my friend’s ex-wife — someone who didn’t know me, someone already hurting, someone primed for bitterness. you went straight to her, and together, without hesitation, the two of you created a storm that never should have existed. lies were born in that conversation. ugly ones. cruel ones. you didn’t stop them. you didn’t question them. you let them take shape. and then you both spread them.

the two of you took my name and twisted it into shapes i didn’t recognize. you spread rumors about me, about my friend, about us — rumors that had no root in reality, no truth, no justification. she carried her bitterness like a torch, and you handed her the fuel. you repeated stories that were never real. you gave weight to accusations that had no place in our connection. you let insecurity turn into gossip, and gossip turn into damage, and damage turn into humiliation that still clings to me even now. hearing lies about myself repeated by strangers — lies the two of you gave breath to — has been one of the most painful experiences of my life. i didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve that. we didn’t deserve to be twisted into a narrative built out of resentment and fear. i am still scraping those rumors off my skin.

and yet here i am, with a heart that refuses to match the brutality of what happened. because even after the lies, even after the betrayal, even after being dragged through a fire i didn’t start, i am still in love with you. painfully. foolishly. honestly. i wish i could say otherwise. i wish i could say the hurt burned the love away. but it didn’t. i wish i could say the rumors killed the connection. but they didn’t. i wish i could say your doubt taught my heart how to stop wanting you. but it didn’t. love is stubborn like that. it doesn’t leave just because it’s wounded. it doesn’t disappear just because it’s betrayed. it lingers in the quiet places, even when it shouldn’t.

and the rawest part, the part that scares me because of how true it still feels, is this: if you called, i would answer. if you texted, i would respond. if you showed up at my door — broken, sorry, unsure — i would open it. not because i’m weak. not because i’ve forgotten. not because the love was blind. but because the love was real. and real love doesn’t disappear on command. i still feel you in places i wish were empty. i still miss you in moments i wish were quiet. i still ache in ways i wish i could turn off. i don’t know what that makes me. but it makes me human.

i want to thank you for showing me how deeply i’m capable of feeling. i want to thank you for the beginning that felt like sunlight. i want to thank you for the lessons buried inside the hurt — lessons about boundaries, trust, and the danger of loving someone who hasn’t healed. i want to thank you for forcing me to confront the parts of myself that still want to be chosen, even by someone who couldn’t choose me properly. i want to thank you for the pieces of strength i’ve found while trying to rebuild myself from the rumors, from the betrayal, from the loss of something that meant more to me than i ever admitted.

i am hurt. i am grieving. i am still trying to wash the lies off me. i am trying to reclaim the truth of who i am. i am trying to breathe through the ache of loving someone who let fear speak louder than my honesty. i am not healed yet. but i am healing. slowly, painfully, honestly. and even in the worst of it, even in the moments when the hurt feels unbearable, i can still say the words that feel impossible: i loved you. i still do. and i probably will for a while.

with ink + bloom, 🌻