June 2019

I didn’t go into this

waiting for it to fall apart.

I wasn’t planning an exit.

I was all in—

every broken, hopeful piece of me.

I learned your love language.

Took the blame.

Prayed over it.

Prayed over you.

Bent myself into your shape

and called it faithfulness.

I wasn’t keeping score.

I wasn’t looking for flaws.

If anything,

I looked past them—

again and again,

until I couldn’t see myself anymore.

I didn’t expect perfect.

Just not to be punished

for loving wrong,

for not reading your mind,

for needing space.

I wasn’t waiting for failure.

But it still came—

loud sometimes,

quiet others.

In slammed drawers.

In sideways glances.

In silence,

used like a leash.

And still,

I stayed.

Not because I didn’t want to leave,

but because I thought leaving

meant quitting.

And quitting

meant I hadn’t tried hard enough.

But I did try.

God, I tried.

Failure didn’t come

because I was waiting for it.

It came

because I stayed too long

trying to prevent it.

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