Trying to forget the pictures in my head.

Your touch on my skin.

Your words shattering inside me.

Your stupid face when I cried.

How I ran into my room,

crying like the world ended—

but in fact, my world was destroyed.

You told me the truth,

but I didn’t want to live in that.

Your words will haunt me forever.

Sitting under my desk,

wishing it was all a joke.

Shaking. Trembling. Crying.

You came to me,

wanted to look after me.

But I didn’t want to see your face—

the face that destroyed my perfect life.

You said nothing would change.

But everything did.

Because you left.

Left me alone in this house.

Left everyone who trusted you.

Everyone who needed you.

But you didn’t stay.

You said it would be okay.

But why does it still hurt?

Even seven years later.

Why do I still feel the consequences of your actions?

You left for the best.

But it never felt right.

Once we were happily running through the garden,

playing soccer.

Now I only sit there—

surrounded by memories that can never be remade.

Once, every time we played a game, you were blue.

Now I use your character.

Once, you sat on the bench.

Now it feels strange to sit there,

because I know—

if you were here,

you would.

Now that you’re gone,

I feel the hole in my heart.

The empty spot on the couch.

The missing love in the house.

The struggles everyone here carries.

When you left,

my world ended—

but yours began.

My house filled with anger.

Yours with love.

You broke our hearts—

but yours could heal.

Maybe I’m angry.

Maybe I’m disappointed.

But I love you.

I hate what you did.

I hate how you left.

I hate that I can’t be angry at you.

Because how could I hate you—

as a human?

But not as your daughter.

Even if it’s only once a week,

I’m happiest the moment I spring into your arms.

Even if I know they’re not mine anymore.

You moved on.

But I still live in the memories

we once created.

You built a new life.

But I’m still stuck in the ruins you left behind.

You forgot the little version of me

you once knew.

Now she seems so strange—

because you broke me

before any boy ever could.

But you love me.

You care.

You try.

Even if it’s not enough.

Not what I needed from you.

But you try.

I try.

We all try.

Trying to move on.

I will never forget the moment

that destroyed my fearless days.

But I will forget the happy ones—

because they were so few.

Now I may have moved on,

accepted the truth.

But sometimes I still lay awake,

wishing it was just a dream.

I said I’m fine.

But part of me still sits under that desk,

listening to the truth I never wanted to hear.

And I will never forget.

Because it did destroy everything I believed in.

How should I believe in love—

if you couldn’t?

How should I believe in loyalty—

if you broke it?

How should I believe someone could ever love me—

if your love wasn’t enough to stop you from cheating?

How should I ever feel the right kind of love—

when you never showed me?

Now I’m stuck in my brokenness,

still trying to hear the whole story.

Acting like everything’s okay,

like it doesn’t bother me.

Trying to decide what’s right, what’s wrong.

Still figuring out what’s wrong with me.

Trying to fix.

Trying to survive

what you broke.

Even if it wasn’t on purpose—

it was an accident

that should’ve never happened.

Because you knew what consequences it would bring.

But they never stopped you.

I don’t remember

what it felt like

to have a happy family.

Four people.

Loving.

Trusting.

But I do remember

what it felt like

when you left.

A broken family.

Three people.

Yelling.

Hurting.

Because I didn’t grow up in a loving home—

but in an angry one.

My mistakes were the death of me.

Comparison tried to kill me.

Every day was a fight—

for you,

for me.

We all needed you

when you left.

I needed someone to be loved by.

My brother needed a role model.

My mom needed a husband.

All I know is hate, fear, anger—

even though my soul is filled with love, sadness, and trust.

I forgive.

Because it made me stronger.

Even if I was just a child who needed love.

Even if it made me the most emotional person I know—

I’m proud of that.

It hurt.

It still does.

And I will never forget.