I hate to say I dodged a bullet, but I may have dodged a bullet.
I like to think that, had it been me instead of her, things would be a hell of a lot better. There wouldn’t be all of this misplaced fear or so many painful miscommunications. My focus would be rebuilding your trust and nurturing your sense of self. You deserve so much more than what you’re getting; I could give you something that they all overlook.
And that’s exactly what I was willing to do. I had every intention of giving you the world, and I thought you knew that. I thought I made that clear when I told you everything but love. I thought we were embarking on greatness.
But then some part of me realized that I could be wrong. Maybe the other girls aren’t the problem. Maybe you don’t just have shitty taste in women. Maybe, just maybe, you are the problem and not the victim. Maybe there’s no way to win with you, but I’ve just been set on looking past it.
It’s just that it’s so hard to consider, to believe, to whisper to my midnights that I may have had it all wrong all this time. Years upon years of defending you. So many unanswered questions that I let slide. Every mark you left on me, counting down to your next implosion. I should have taken them as signs to run, to run hard and fast in any other direction, but I took them to mean you needed me to save you. And so I stayed.
But yesterday, something snapped. It sounded like bone, but it was merely a rope of my sanity and patience. It hit me all at once that your voice didn’t bring comfort anymore. That’s when I realized and accepted that you would no longer reach out for me if it meant dropping someone else’s hand. I will pray for you, but I’m not going to be your armor. Not anymore.