The Echo of Familiar Hands

I reached out for comfort  

In the hands that once held me close,  

But those same hands,  

Familiar and warm,  

Tore my heart in secret shadows,  

Leaving scars where trust once bloomed.

I wanted her to rebuild me,  

To gather the shattered pieces,  

Yet she was the one who scattered them,  

Like dust in the wind,  

Her love a fleeting whisper,  

Her touch a memory of what was lost.

Why do we seek solace  

In the places that broke us?  

Is it the hope that lingers,  

Or the longing for what was?  

But deep inside, I know,  

Rebuilding is mine to claim,  

Not hers to give,  

For she was skilled in destruction,  

Not in the art of repair.

So I turn inward,  

To the strength within,  

To mend the wounds she left behind,  

Piece by piece, I’ll make myself whole,  

For this journey of healing is mine alone,  

A path to rediscover the self  

That she could never truly know.

And as I rise from the ashes  

Of a love that once was,  

I find that I don’t need her  

To be whole again—  

I need only me,  

And the courage to rebuild.