Was My Love Fake? A Deep Cry for Truth and Closure

 

Seriously, Baby?

I tried.
God knows how hard I tried.
To reach you—
arms out, heart open,
even when you turned your back
like my love was too loud for your silence.

You kept yourself far,
far like a shore that vanishes
just as my fingertips brush the horizon.
And maybe—maybe it was my fault.
Or maybe there was no fault at all.
Because I search inside me
again and again,
and I still don’t find the sin
you punished me for.

If I was wrong,
then tell me.
Show me.
Speak to me like I mattered once.
Don’t run away
and toss my love into the fire
like it was trash to forget.

You said my love was fake.

I want to hold your face,
lift your chin with trembling fingers—
look you in those eyes you hide behind
and ask you:

Do you really mean it?
Do you really believe
I used you?

Baby.
Seriously?

If I did,
if I was a user,
then I pray—
with every drop of my soul left—
let the universe, the stars,
the galaxies,
never let us meet again.
Because I swear—
swear on the cosmos—
there was not even
0.1% of me
that was untrue.

My love for you—
it was my pride.
The fire I carried
in daylight and in dark.
The thing I wore like armor
and still let it be soft.

But when I heard your voice,
your words,
those sharp, careless words—
I broke.

This was the last thing
I ever needed to hear.
This was the one thing
that could destroy me.

And you said it.

You don’t know, baby—
how much I screamed,
how my knuckles bruised from punching pain,
how my pillow soaked in cries I swallowed
just to keep breathing.

You don’t know.

And what should I say now, huh?

That when I held you—
when I wrapped my arms around you,
when I pulled you close
and pressed your head to my shoulder,
when I kissed you with prayers
hidden in the quiet of my lips—
that was fake?

All of it?

Seriously?

Then ask yourself,
look into your own eyes—
and when your heart stops running,
you’ll know.
You’ll fall to your knees with the weight of it.
Because love like mine doesn’t come in disguise.
It comes raw,
it comes real,
and it comes once.

If you still think I used you,
then I have nothing left to say.

Nothing.