The longer you think about it, the more you’ll be able to justify what you did.
In a way you kind of have to, or else it would feel too much like you made a mistake.
But you did. Like most, you won’t know it til it’s too late. But it won’t stop you from coming back. They always do.
You’ve sacrificed many hearts to spare your own. You’re a murderer of sorts, but you’ll never own up to it.
You’ll live in your fortress built of fear and doubt, that do a successful job of protecting, but a stellar job of keeping you from something better.
I know it. You don’t yet. And you won’t until it’s too late.
You’ll look back when she’s older, when you’re older and feel empty.
You may even find another, but she’s just a shell. A poor replica of what you had before and what you’re trying so desperately to get back.
It didn’t matter how many hearts laid down in front of you naked and vulnerable, afraid of the very thing you ended up doing.
I won’t hate you for it though, because I’m a victim not victimized.
I’ll just pick up the butchered pieces like the time before and try to be more careful next time.
And you’ll just keep thinking about it, and justify what you did anyway.