Fuck you—
for the silence,
for the half-truths,
for making me feel crazy
for noticing
what was right in front of me.
Fuck you
for acting distant
while still keeping me close enough
to hope.
For every mixed signal
you dressed up like confusion
when really
you just didn’t want
to let go
or fully stay.
And maybe
that’s what hurts most—
not that you lied,
not even that you left—
but that you let me
keep believing
there was something here
worth fighting for
while you were already
halfway gone.
I replay it sometimes—
all the moments
I should’ve walked away,
all the times
my gut knew better
but my heart
kept overruling it.
So yeah—
fuck you.
Not because I still want you.
Not because I need revenge.
But because I deserved honesty,
and you gave me confusion
instead.
And now I’m stuck
untangling the damage
from something
you couldn’t even admit
was breaking.