The sparks flew as the snow fell,
a perfect moment, breath stolen,
stolen moments hidden in a car—
the first whispers of I love you.
Treasured memories clung like glue,
pictures of you haunting my mind:
the bathtub flooding the room,
the ring beneath blue-colored lights,
chases ending in laughter,
outside the cactus disaster,
a family wrapped in joy—
better than any new toy.
Then the disappearance of heart and soul
left my soul shivering in rooms of cold.
He is a good man.
He is doing the best he can.
His kids—they come first.
His ex keeps feeding this curse.
Echoes of words once spoken in faith,
of a love without walls or gates.
But fear shook my soul,
led me down a lonesome hall—
empty bed, empty home, empty joy.
A phone and a voice, my only ally,
as betrayal’s walls caved in,
the cold world breaking me from within.
Dying every day, waking to no one,
watching love bloom everywhere else
while my flowers turned to dust.
I waited.
I waited.
I 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.
I held on.
I hoped.
I begged.
I spoke, I yelled, I prayed.
My body changed.
My mind changed.
My heart rearranged.
I held that once-beautiful man
in my mind, in my heart, as planned.
He is a good man.
He is doing the best he can.
His kids—they come first.
His ex keeps feeding this curse.
The truth echoed before I could hear it,
yet hope stayed blind—
clinging to memories
of a different time.
Now I am tired.
My soul is drained.
No prayer, no patience, no joy remains.
I don’t think the love is coming back.
I don’t think I am the woman you need.
No touching.
No kissing.
No connection.
Only hollow halls of infected hope,
moments of quiet rejection.
He is a good man.
He is doing the best he can.
His kids—they come first.
His ex 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 your joy, find your peace someday.
And with that same praying heart, I let go,
accepting this as what’s best
for your soul—
and finally, for mine.
So I stop reaching.
Not because I don’t feel it,
but because I finally understand.
You are who you are.
This is what remains.
I set the weight down
without erasing the love.
I leave the pain
where it belongs.
And in the quiet after,
I stay—
not angry,
not broken,
just no longer reaching.
He is a good man.
He is doing the best he can.
His kids—they come first.
His ex keeps feeding this curse.
He is a good man.
He is doing the best he can.
His kids—they come first.
His ex keeps feeding this curse.
