gaslighting
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There’s a seat that not everyone earns.Front row. Close enough to see the sweat, the cracks, the tremble in someone’s voice when the act starts slipping. You’re sitting there. Not participating. Not reacting. Not jumping on stage to “save” anything that was never yours to fix. Just watching. And on that stage… chaos dressed up…
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Regret has a funny way of dressing itself up. It doesn’t walk into the room saying, I was wrong.It walks in pointing fingers. It says, They made me do it.They stole from me.They never loved me.They kept me down. Meanwhile, everywhere they go… there they are. You can change cities.Change partners.Change jobs.Change friend groups. But…
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You remember the shift. Not loud.Not dramatic.Just a flicker. The eyes went black and the room changed. No one else ever seemed to notice it.But you did. You learned to read weather.Pressure drops.Air thins.The storm stands up in human skin. The temperature of a room can change without a window opening. You stopped complaining.You stopped…
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You never loved me. You just wanted to own me. You didn’t fall in love with me.You fell in love with your reflection in my eyes.I was the canvas, you were the brush—but the painting was always your own face.You whispered sonnets soaked in sugar,but every word was a leash.You didn’t want a partner.You wanted…
