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what happened to you that even love spoken softly sounded like hurt to you? That you translated "I miss you" into "You're not good enough." I have tried to blame myself; believe me, I did. But I can't. I go back to our old messages, and there's just so much compassion and kindness. And that's what felt dangerous to you.
I'm not angry with you. I don't resent you. I just see a broken man who couldn't accept being loved. I didn't need you to be perfect. I just needed you present. To accept that you might hurt me, but stay anyway. You know, what happened to me in May was awful. I just wish you didn't take it as a personal failure that I couldn't get over the trauma instantly.
Still, I don't hate you. I have even more compassion for you than before. Because what had to happen for you to be this terrified of gentleness? I see you more clearly now, and I want to help. But what you told me the last time we spoke...I had to walk away. But it didn't fix anything—the worst outcome of them all.
Yet, every day I still hope that you'll reach out. That you'll face your fears because losing me forever would be worse. Not for any promises, but to try. To see where it would lead us.
I still wish you would come home.
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