What I Can’t Earn Back

I showed up early, stayed past the warnings
Burned through nights I won’t see again
I dressed my patience up as devotion
Called it faith when it was decay

I told you “take your time,” like mine was endless
Like I wasn’t aging every breath
I stood still every time you hesitated
Watched my future learn how to wait

When I gave you my time, I gave you blood
Something I can’t replace, something I don’t get back
No forgiveness built into the cost
When I gave you my time, I paid it all at once

You never asked me to bleed that long
I just didn’t know when enough was enough
Every silence I chose to honor
Every pause I mislabeled love

You didn’t steal, you didn’t deceive
I laid my life down carefully
Hour by hour, choice by choice
I muted my voice to keep the peace

When I gave you my time, I cut it loose
Watched it disappear trying to prove the truth
I kept showing up while you stayed unsure
Now I live with the damage I authorized

I’m not mad at you — I’m mad at me
For calling restraint maturity
For wearing loss like moral ground
For staying quiet when I should’ve burned it down

I turned endurance into a virtue
Let starvation feel responsible
I don’t blame you for what you took
I blame myself for the open wound

Time doesn’t beg
It doesn’t wait
It only takes what you volunteer
I learned its weight
By feeling it leave
And knowing I put it there

If I give you my time, it’s everything
The one thing I don’t have endlessly
No refunds, no resurrection
If I give you my time —
Understand the aggression