They broke your heart, I think.
Mine too, I know.
I saw it coming and yet, I let it shatter, my heart.

Perhaps I was hopeful, or was it masochism?

I wonder if you did too: see it coming.
I’m healing.
I pray you have too.
I don’t know if happy endings exist,
if a place where I can go exists,
but I pray I never stop to find out.

No matter the wreckage they left behind for you to heal, and to make art out of.

“It is not your fault that you don’t assume the worst in people. People are at fault when they let you down; you are not at fault for not anticipating that they will let you down,” as a wise friend tells me often.