I showed you my wounds,
the ones I kept hidden,
believing I was helping,
shielding you
from the weight of my pain.
Do you feel guilty for choosing his lies?
Do you wonder what this has done to me?
Do you truly believe
I lied about my assault?
This pain is different—
it seeps into the soul,
demands to be felt.
Betrayal.
I trusted you.
I called you a friend.
You consumed my truths
only to spit back lies.
Yet still,
I would never wish this upon you:
the constant fear of seeing him,
the dread of not being believed,
the empty gaps in memory,
the endless war of self-doubt.
But you’ll never hear this.
We’ll never be friends again.
I just needed to write it,
to remind myself—
I am healing.
You chose a man
because you weren’t ready to heal.
I hope one day you are.
I hope you learn
what you truly deserve.
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