Through the Fog

Tag: emotional maturity

  • 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.

  • Apologies to the Past

    I’m sorry things ain’t what they used to be—

    I say it like an apology,

    like time took a wrong turn

    and I’m somehow to blame.

    We were softer then.

    Or maybe just less honest

    about the cracks forming underneath.

    Back when laughter came easier

    and silence didn’t feel so loaded.

    Now everything carries history.

    Every word knows what came before it.

    Every pause remembers

    how things fell apart

    without making a sound.

    I miss the simplicity—

    the way hope didn’t need proof,

    the way love didn’t feel like work

    or risk or loss waiting its turn.

    But I also know

    we didn’t lose something for nothing.

    People grow.

    Truth shows up.

    Life asks more of us

    than nostalgia can answer.

    So I’m sorry, yes—

    for the distance,

    for the change,

    for the way “used to be”

    still aches when I say it.

    But I’m learning

    that different doesn’t always mean broken.

    Sometimes it just means

    we survived long enough

    to become real.