To the man who kept picking flowers instead of planting them—
I was solid. I was loyal. I showed up with both hands open while you kept one behind your back.
I shared everything. You took what you wanted and called it love.
You searched my phone like a detective while building your own escape routes. You called it protection. I called it what it was.
Every time we ended, you sprinted toward the first warmth that would have you—not because you wanted her, but because you couldn't stand to feel the cold alone.
But you are afraid. And that fear makes you a thief—of trust, of time, of women who deserved better than to be your proof that you're still wanted.
I wanted to be your garden. You wanted a bouquet.
I hope you learn the difference before it's too late.