I don’t really blame him, you know.
I don’t blame him for the wreck that I am.
I was already a broken ornament
that was rigged together randomly
to survive this wretched world.
Attempting to stay strong and keep it together,
since I was a child.
The abuse again.
Highlights of the bullshit I had to brush off my shoulder.
And he comes along,
turning this independent cold-hearted woman,
to an actual human being,
just because he listened to me carefully;
attentive to the smallest details;
with no judging remarks nor pity;
constantly commenting on my strength,
but also leaving room for my weaknesses,
because realistically speaking I have both.
I don’t really blame him
for any pain he might think he has caused,
because truth be told, he was my version of Hope –
if Hope was in human form.
He proved that this world isn’t as hopeless
as I might think it is.
But it’s easier to blame someone else
for the emptiness you have inside,
rather than on your lack of strength
to deal with this lonely life.
I don’t blame him
because he loved me;
the sinned me;
the abused me;
the weak me;
the strong me;
the hardworking me;
I thank him.
For showing me that I still deserved to be loved.