Now, I am left with myself.
Not in the way I once hoped,
But in a way that feels cold, detached.
I whisper words of self love,
Yet they feel hollow, like rehearsed lines in a play
Where no one is watching.

I try to believe that I am whole,
That I am enough
But the shadows of my past selves linger,
The ones I sacrificed for love
That was never meant to last.
Now, love is not something I chase,
But something I fear,
A reminder of all I have lost,
Of all I will never be again.

I tell myself I no longer have to change
To be loved.
But what if I have already changed too much?
What if the person I was—the one who still believed
Is gone forever?