Not Mine To Save

I used to think

that I could save the world

until I realized

the world was never

mine to save.

I spent years

trying to fix things

I didn’t break.

Loving people

who didn’t know

how to love themselves.

Carrying burdens

that were never mine

to begin with.

I thought if I cared enough,

tried hard enough,

gave enough of myself,

somehow

I could make everything

turn out differently.

I thought love

could change people.

That understanding

could heal them.

That if I just stayed

a little longer,

gave one more chance,

forgave one more time,

eventually

something would give.

And something did.

Me.

I broke myself

trying to keep

everyone else together.

I became so consumed

with saving people

from their own destruction

that I never noticed

what it was doing to me.

I called it compassion.

I called it loyalty.

I called it love.

But somewhere along the way,

I started confusing

being needed

with being important.

And being useful

with being worthy.

I couldn’t stand

watching people hurt.

So I took their pain

and made it mine.

I couldn’t stand

watching people leave.

So I abandoned myself

trying to convince them

to stay.

And the fucked-up part?

I thought that made me

a good person.

Maybe it did.

Maybe my intentions

were always good.

But good intentions

don’t make you invincible.

And having a big heart

doesn’t mean

you owe everyone

a piece of it.

I’ve had to learn

that some people

don’t want to be saved.

Some people

have to lose everything

before they understand

what they had.

Some people

will keep reaching

for your hand

only to pull you under

with them.

And no matter

how much you love them,

you cannot live

their lives

for them.

That’s been

the hardest lesson.

Learning to care

without carrying.

To love

without losing myself.

To watch someone

make the wrong decision

and understand

that it isn’t always

my responsibility

to stop them.

I still struggle with it.

I still want to fix things.

Still want to reach

for people

who are falling apart.

Still feel guilty

when I choose

my own peace.

But I’m learning.

Slowly.

Painfully.

That I can be kind

without being consumed.

That I can offer love

without sacrificing

everything I have left.

That walking away

doesn’t always mean

I stopped caring.

Sometimes

it means I finally

started caring

about myself, too.

I used to think

I could save the world.

And maybe

that’s why I spent

so many years

feeling like a failure.

Because no matter

how much I gave,

someone was still hurting.

Something was still broken.

Someone still needed

more than I had.

But the world

was never mine to save.

And neither

was everyone in it.

Maybe my purpose

was never to rescue

every broken thing

I came across.

Maybe it was simply

to leave a little kindness

where I could,

love people

without trying

to become their salvation,

and finally understand

that I am allowed

to have a life

of my own.

Because somewhere

in all those years

of trying to save

everyone else,

there was a woman

quietly falling apart

who deserved

some of that love, too.

And this time,

I’m not leaving her

behind.