i never asked for promises,
nor vows that time could tear apart;
i only offered patience,
and a place beside my heart.

i left the walls unfinished,
not so strangers could come through,
but because i thought, perhaps,
i might build something there with you.

i said we'd take it slow and see,
you heard a license to explore;
i thought we might build something real,
you kept one foot outside the door.

i never asked for all your life,
or vows of what we'd someday be;
i only thought that for a while,
you'd turn your heart toward only me.

i set the passing noise aside,
and gave my time to something new;
you spoke of feelings deep and real,
yet couldn't say you'd choose them too.

how convenient, isn't it?
to dress desire up as fear;
to claim a heart too bruised for love,
yet keep your every option near.

you spoke of wounds that hadn't healed,
of hearts too frightened to commit;
yet somehow fear of being hurt
left room for every passing whim.

and god, how utterly pathetic,
that care must now be put in ink;
that giving someone honest focus
requires more than common sense, it seems.

i never asked for ownership,
nor chains around your hands;
but somehow simple courtesy
became too much to understand.

romance is dead, or so it seems,
beneath a thousand shallow thrills;
where loyalty's an inconvenience,
and lust is dressed in something real.

where hearts are merely placeholders,
until the next distraction calls;
and those who dare to mean their words
are fools awaiting their downfall.

but no, you did not break a vow,
no promise split in two;
not every wound is born of lies,
or things we meant to do.

you had the freedom to decide,
and i the choice to leave;
i cannot ask you to become
the love i wished to see.

and maybe fear was all it was,
a heart too scared to try;
but i cannot keep making room
for someone passing by.

i will not argue what was fair,
nor plead to change your mind;
i know the kind of love i seek,
and what i will not find.

another triumph tastes of rust,
another sweetness turned;
but i won't let one bitter memory
consume the things i've earned.

i used to think my distance
was a weakness i should mend;
but every time i lower walls,
i learn why they were built again.

perhaps my doubt was wisdom,
perhaps my caution wasn't fear;
perhaps the cruelest part of this
was thinking i was safe with you here.

and still, i hate remembering
the warmth where now there's only cold;
that something i was brave enough
to offer wasn't yours to hold.

i hate that something almost real
could leave so deep a scar;
that someone once so close to me
could suddenly feel so far.

i don't regret the love i gave,
nor think my care was wrong;
i only wish i'd known before
where neither of us belonged.

there's something cruel in mourning
a future never promised me;
in grieving all the little things
that never came to be.

and maybe that's what hurts the most,
not losing what we had;
but knowing what i hoped to find
was never ours to have.

i won't pretend it doesn't ache,
or claim i've felt no loss;
but some things aren't worth saving,
regardless of the cost.

so keep your endless possibilities,
your freedom dressed as grace;
i will not beg for tenderness,
nor bargain for my place.

the things i build will stay my own,
untouched by who may leave;
i'll never weave another love
through all that i achieve.

and i was never one of many,
no name to keep until you're sure;
i was a choice you could have made,
you chose the open door.

i don't need your explanations,
your sorrow or regret;
some wounds are slow to disappear,
but that changes nothing yet.

i once believed the work could wait,
that someone might be worth the night;
and though i mourn that quiet hope,
the lamps shall burn again tonight.

i will not hate you into staying,
nor mourn you into grace;
the hurt is mine to carry now,
but you have lost your place.

and if my silence feels like peace,
don't think the wound has healed;
i simply learned that not all pain
deserves to be revealed.

you'll never hear me ask you back,
nor watch me beg for trust;
the hurt is mine, the choice was yours,
and all that's left is rust.