When you appeared on my screen
that early morning,
it felt like life was offering me
a moment I didn’t deserve—
a chance to speak to a woman
whose memory had never truly left me.
Your smile, your questions,
your sharpness,
your honesty—
they pulled me open
in ways I wasn’t ready for.
You asked things
no one ever dared to ask—
about my past,
my marriage,
my mistakes,
my hidden truths.
And instead of hiding,
I answered you.
Every truth felt like peeling skin
off an old wound.
But still, I trusted you with it.
Some part of me hoped
that being honest
would make you stay—
that you would see the man inside the chaos,
not just the chaos itself.
But the more you learned,
the more I felt the distance growing—
a silence between your lines,
a slow retreat behind your questions.
And in that retreat,
I realized the truth:
you weren’t just discovering me.
You were discovering that
you deserved better than my brokenness,
better than the weight I carry,
better than the ruins of my past.
You deserved a man
who had his life sorted,
whose name wasn’t tangled in secrets,
whose story didn’t come wrapped
in guilt, complications,
and unfinished wounds.
If only you had met
a better version of me—
one who hadn’t stumbled this far,
one who hadn’t created so much damage,
one who could offer you
a clean page instead of a torn one.
But fate doesn’t negotiate.
It introduces people
at the wrong time
with the right feelings,
and then watches
as they quietly fall apart.
And so you stepped back—
not cruelly,
not loudly—
but with the soft sadness
of a woman who knows
this story cannot end
the way it could have
in another lifetime.
