I gave myself a chance again at love.
I stepped into it carefully, almost tenderly, hoping this time the story would be different.
I didn't want to let fear lock me out of something beautiful, didn't want to miss a chance at finding the right one simply because my heart had been bruised by so many wrong ones before.
So I tried… again.
But I was wrong again.
Love, that gentle promise I keep chasing, has me spinning in this endless game of loss and found.
Except in this version of the game, nothing is ever really found,
only heartbreak disguised as hope,
only disappointed expectations, wrapped in soft words and temporary warmth.
So here I am…
lost in a place where I once felt full,
confused in a space that used to feel like home,
clueless about what to hold onto
and what to finally let go of.
It's a terrible thing to watch your heart become unfamiliar to you,
to feel it shrinking where it once bloomed,
to feel the silence where love used to breathe.
I keep asking myself:
Can I still find peace in this chaos of love?
In this storm that keeps returning to my doorstep no matter how many times I rebuild myself?
Because some days, it feels like love is a maze with no exit.
Other days, it feels like a promise meant for everyone but me.
And on the hardest nights, it feels like I'm walking barefoot through the pieces of the same heart I've glued together too many times.
But still…
some fragile part of me keeps hoping.
Hoping that peace exists somewhere beneath all this wreckage.
Hoping that the ache in my chest won't always feel like destiny.
Hoping that one day, someone will meet me in the middle instead of watching me drown from the shore.
Until then, I remain here,
caught between the memory of the love I wanted
and the reality of the love I received.
Searching for peace.
Searching for myself.
Searching for the place where heartbreak finally releases me.