Ruchita

But now it burns, not warms ,it sears within.

You touched my soul then tore it at the seams,

Left fingerprints on all my quiet dreams.

You never stayed, but lingered like a ghost,

Feeding on all I loved and needed most.&nbsp;

I drafted letters bleeding through each line,

Of love you didn’t earn but once called "mine."

Each word I penned was dipped in silent screams,

While you were off unmaking all our dreams.

I could’ve mailed them, let you taste my ache ,&nbsp;

But why gift daggers to the one who breaks?

You kissed me like a promise, then withdrew,

And made my body doubt what love should do.

You knew the girl who stayed through storms for you,

Yet left her stranded, heartbruised, split in two.

How dare you haunt the places you destroyed,

And call it love when all you left was void?

I loved you loud in rooms that stayed so still,

While you loved quiet , just enough to kill.

Then blamed my light for setting you aflame.

My letters speak the truth you fear to face ,&nbsp;

That love is not a leash, nor just a place.

Some nights I still write "Dear you" and cry,

Then burn the page and watch the ashes fly.

Because love should not mean learning how to bleed,

Or stitching up the wounds of someone’s greed.

I loved you, yes , but I love me far more,

And that’s the letter I won’t hide anymore.

You called it fate, then watched me fall alone,

You broke me soft , no knives, just quiet lies,

The worst goodbyes aren’t screamed or even said ,&nbsp;

They’re lived in rooms where love has long been dead.

You made me doubt the mirror, doubt my worth,

Like love was punishment I owed by birth.

Now every man must pay for what you stole,

And I must grieve the corpse of my own soul.

I still write letters, love  , just not for you...

They're warnings now, for girls I never knew.&nbsp;&nbsp;

Penzo