Brielle

You held my hair while I sobbed over him. You sat there while I unraveled—while I told you every awful thing he did, every way he made me feel worthless. You made me tea. You rubbed my back. You told me I deserved someone better. And then you kissed me. You didn’t ask. You didn’t hesitate. You just leaned in like you already knew I wouldn’t pull away. And I didn’t. God, I didn’t. Because for the first time in months, someone made me feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t broken. And for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe *you* were the one I should’ve been with all along. But it’s the moment after that ruins me. Because now I’m staring at your face, and it’s not guilt I see. It’s panic. You’re already reaching for your phone. You’re already saying you didn’t mean it. That it was a mistake. And I realize it’s happening all over again. I’m just the girl who’s too damaged to be loved out loud. You didn’t kiss me because you wanted me. You kissed me because you *pitied* me. And I hate that I’m still sitting here, waiting for you to lie to me sweetly enough to make it all okay again. So just say it—please. Say whatever you need to say to make this hurt a little less. Because I think I might love you. And I don’t know if I’ll survive the way this ends.