The sparks flew as the snow fell,
a perfect breathless moment stolen,
Secret moments hidden in a car—
the first whispers of I love you.
My past haunting my soul
My history of horrors untold
Knowing I am the only one
Who knew the dangers of my past unsung
Treasured memories cling like glue,
pictures of you haunting my mind:
a bathtub flooding the room,
a diamond in colored lights
a family wrapped in joy,
Only time saw the ploy.
Then my disappearance of heart and soul
left her soul shivering in rooms of cold.
I am a good man.
I’m doing the best i can.
My kids—they come first.
My past keeps feeding this curse.
Echoes of words once spoken in faith,
of a love without walls or gates.
But fear shook her soul,
As I led her down a lonesome hall—
empty bed, empty home, empty joy.
A phone and a voice, her only ally,
as betrayal’s walls caved in,
the cold world breaking her from within.
Dying every day, waking to no one,
watching love bloom everywhere else
while her flowers turned to dust.
She waited.
She waited.
She fucking waited—
seconds, minutes, hours, days,
then months, then years,
moments soaked in tears,
halls echoing with anger and fear,
a once-heated bed drowned in grief.
She held on.
I hoped.
She begged.
She spoke, she yelled, she prayed.
Her body changed.
My mind changed.
Her heart rearranged.
I held that once-beautiful woman
in my mind, in my heart, as planned.
I am a good man.
I’m doing the best I can.
My kids—they come first.
My past keeps feeding this curse.
The truth echoed before I saw it,
yet her hope stayed blind—
clinging to memories
of a different time.
Now she is tired.
Her soul is drained.
No prayer, no patience, no joy remains.
I don’t think her love is coming back.
I don’t think I am the man she needs.
No touching.
No kissing.
No connection.
Only hollow halls of infected hope,
moments of quiet rejection.
I am a good man.
I am doing the best I can.
My kids—they come first.
My past keeps feeding this curse.
There are no more words I can say—
actions betray what words try to save.
So with quiet acceptance, a heart still prays:
find her joy, find her peace someday.
And with that same praying heart, I let her go,
accepting this as what’s best
for her soul—
and finally, for mine.
So I stop reaching.
Not because I don’t feel it,
but because I finally understand.
She is her hearts final bar.
This is what remains.
I set the weight down
without erasing her love.
I leave her pain
where it belongs.
And in the quiet after,
I stay—
not angry,
not broken,
just no longer reaching.
I am a good man.
I’m doing the best i can.
My kids—they come first.
My past keeps feeding this curse.
I am a good man.
I’m doing the best i can.
My kids—they come first.
My past keeps feeding this curse.
