One day,
you will be asked to face
the hearts you broke
without looking back
the ones you were too afraid to feel.

You will sit,
in the quiet of your own undoing,
and the silence
will ask you to account
for all the ways you ran.

Your story
is stitched with threads of blame
cutting when “love” no longer served you,
discarding the mirrors
that showed too much truth.

You call it clarity,
but it’s only fear
dressed up as wisdom.

You walk out of therapy rooms
as if they wash you clean.
You think sitting in the chair
is the same as sitting in the fire.

But healing
is not in the leaving
it’s in the staying.

And you,
you’ve never stayed long enough
to burn.

Inside you lives a masterpiece
waiting to shatter
a mosaic of gold veins
yearning to be seen.
Kintsugi.
The art of the broken
made whole.

But you mistake softness
for weakness,
and hide your brilliance
beneath control.

You fear the unveiling,
the cracking open,
because it would dissolve
the illusion you built
to stay untouched.

Yet all of us fall,
eventually,
until the veil slips
and we meet the stranger
behind our own eyes.

And when that day comes,
you will know
the greatest loss
is not love,
but the absence
of your own reflection.

Until then,
you’ll keep chasing worship
and calling it love,
discarding those who see you
as you are.

Because only when you can
love your own flaws
every crack, every scar
will you believe
that someone else could too.

Like I did.