If I ever had a time machine—
would I stop everything that happened to me?
All the things I can't say out loud,
the ones that make my eyes sting,
the nights that swallowed me.
It bends me.
It slows my breath.
I hate myself for the choices
that led me straight into it all—
for the moments I trusted the wrong hands.
But if you ask me,
would I stop it all?
No.
"Let it happen to her."
"Let her cry, let her break."
"And then stand stronger than before."
Because the truth is cruel and simple:
the girl who trusted was naive—
a floor beneath other people's feet.
If I had a time machine,
I would not go back to save her.
I would only bring her a lantern—
a small light to hold while she finds her feet again.
But if anyone ever asked me,
Do you hate her?
I will answer,
No, cause she is the one who made me.