Time.
The one thing they never warn you about
is that it doesn’t always leave with a ticking clock.
Sometimes time leaves disguised as hope.
Sometimes it leaves wearing her face.
And before you know it,
you’ve spent years standing in the same place,
calling it loyalty,
when all you’ve really been doing
is watching your own life disappear.
I used to think love meant staying.
Staying when it hurt.
Staying when I wasn’t heard.
Staying when my feelings became interruptions.
Staying when every conversation somehow became my fault.
Staying when apologies were promised
but never delivered.
Staying when change was announced
like a holiday that never arrived.
I stayed.
God, I stayed.
Like a fool standing in the rain
waiting for a forecast to change.
Like a man staring at a closed door
calling it an opportunity.
Like a prisoner decorating his own cage.
And maybe that’s what makes me angry.
Not her.
Not anymore.
Me.
Because I knew.
I knew every time my stomach tightened
before bringing up how I felt.
I knew every time my words were twisted
until I was defending things I never said.
I knew every time respect became conditional.
I knew every time my pain became an inconvenience.
I knew.
But I kept giving her tomorrow.
Tomorrow she’ll understand.
Tomorrow she’ll care.
Tomorrow she’ll listen.
Tomorrow she’ll change.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Meanwhile time sat in the corner laughing.
Because tomorrow is where broken promises go to retire.
And I funded the whole damn vacation.
Do you know what it’s like
to watch someone ask for patience
while showing no urgency?
To watch someone promise growth
while watering the same weeds?
To hear “I’ll do better”
so many times
that the words lose all meaning?
A promise repeated enough times
becomes a lie wearing makeup.
And I bought tickets to every performance.
Standing ovation.
Front row seat.
Every single show.
I told myself I was being strong.
No.
I was being afraid.
Afraid that leaving would mean failure.
Afraid that choosing myself
would make me selfish.
Afraid that all the years I’d invested
would become years I’d wasted.
But here’s the truth nobody wants to say out loud.
The years were already wasted.
Time doesn’t give refunds.
The clock doesn’t care about your excuses.
The calendar doesn’t pause
because you’re waiting for somebody
to become who they said they would be.
Time just keeps moving.
Without mercy.
Without permission.
Without asking if you’re ready.
And one day I looked in the mirror
and realized something terrifying.
I had spent so much time
trying to save someone else’s growth
that I had abandoned my own.
I knew her moods.
Her triggers.
Her wounds.
Her fears.
Her pain.
Meanwhile I couldn’t even recognize
the man staring back at me.
Because every year she remained the center
of the conversation.
Every year her needs became the emergency.
Every year my feelings were placed
at the bottom.
