Sometimes it takes a while to find that moment of grace, to finally find closure on a chapter. And sometimes it simply pops up unexpectedly in something articulated so beautifully that you go “ah, yes… that’s it”:
*(not my writing)*
he wasn’t a bad person.
he just didn’t know how to hold a heart like mine.
i think he tried.
in the ways he knew how.
in the spaces he was capable of reaching.
but it always felt like
we were speaking different languages.
standing in the same room
and still missing each other.
it wasn’t that he didn’t care.
it was that the way i needed to be loved,
the way i needed to be understood,
wasn’t something he could give without losing himself.
and that’s okay.
there were moments we understood each other.
in small ways.
in smiles across the room.
in quiet tears we didn’t explain.
in hello.
in goodbye.
i think he did love me.
just not in the way my heart was asking for.
not in the way i needed to feel safe.
not in the way that stayed.
he loved me in fragments.
in effort when he remembered.
in presence when he could manage it.
in silence when he didn’t know what to say.
and I loved him, too.
with questions.
with patience.
with hope that maybe one day
we’d finally speak the same language.
some days we felt close.
some days we felt like strangers
sharing the same air.
i don’t think either of us was wrong.
i just think we wanted different kinds of love
and didn’t know how to stop hurting each other
while trying to give it.
i think we cared in different volumes,
i think timing asked more of us
than we knew how to give.
for what it’s worth,
i think what we had was real.
i think we did try.
he wasn’t a bad person.
i believe that.
and I don’t think i was either.
~Ria Olita~