The love once held began to rot,
A twisted tale the heart forgot.
What started warm turned into ice,
A soul that paid the highest price.
The smiles were sharp, the silence loud,
The weight was heavy, wearing proud.
The mirror cracked, the light grew thin,
A war was waged deep from within.
Gaslight sparks lit up the sky,
Each “sorry” stitched with one more lie.
Truth was drowned in shifting blame,
And every hug just fed the shame.
But fire burns and fire clears,
It dries the eyes and ends the tears.
What’s lost in fog can still be found—
Feet may stumble, but they stand their ground.
No finger points, no need to fight,
Just walking boldly toward the light.
Forgiveness formed in quiet breath,
A soft rebirth, a kind of death.
Not of self, but of the pain—
The part that danced beneath the rain.
The lies, the games, the twisted thread—
No longer spun inside the head.
Now every step feels calm and true,
No need to beg, no need to prove.
The love once craved was always near—
It bloomed when choosing self over fear.
So if the weight feels hard to bear,
And no one stops or seems to care—
Remember this, let healing be:
The greatest love begins with me.
