I Don’t Blame You

I don’t blame you—

that’s the part

that surprises even me.

After everything,

after the quiet ways

things unraveled

without ever fully breaking,

I expected anger

to be louder.

Cleaner.

Something I could hold

and point to

and say

that’s what I feel.

But it isn’t.

It’s softer than that.

More complicated.

The kind of understanding

that doesn’t bring relief—

just a different kind of ache.

Because I see it now.

The distance

you didn’t know how to name.

The hesitation

you tried to hide.

The way you stayed

just long enough

to convince both of us

it might still work.

You didn’t mean

to hurt me.

You just didn’t know

how to love me

the way I needed.

And I didn’t know

how to ask for less

without losing myself.

So we stood there—

meeting halfway

in a place

that was never enough

for either of us.

And somehow

that was worse

than anything loud.

No betrayal.

No explosion.

Just two people

trying their best

and still getting it wrong.

So no—

I don’t blame you.

But I won’t pretend

it didn’t cost me something.

Because understanding

doesn’t erase the damage.

It just makes it harder

to hate you for it.