Entangled heart
The Price Of Change
Change is inevitable,
so they say.
Like seasons trading colors,
like rivers carving stone,
like hearts learning how to beat
around the wounds they carry.
But what hurts is not the changing.
It is watching myself tear down old walls,
pull apart every flaw with trembling hands,
reshape the person I was
for someone who never moved an inch.
I became apologies and lessons.
I became sleepless nights spent wondering
how to love better,
how to speak softer,
how to be worthy of staying.
While you remained untouched.
You cast blame like autumn leaves,
letting them fall wherever they pleased,
never once looking upward
to see the branch they came from.
And I wonder
Why must I carry the weight of becoming
while you carry only the comfort of being?
Why am I expected to grow from every scar
while you call yours decorations
and never question how they came to be?
I loved you enough to change.
Not because you asked,
but because I believed love meant becoming better
for the people we hold closest.
Yet somewhere along the way
I learned a crueler truth:
Love cannot survive
when only one person is willing to meet it halfway.
So I stand here now,
someone different than the man you knew,
built from regret, reflection, and ache.
And you stand where you’ve always stood,
certain the fault belonged to everyone else.
Perhaps change is inevitable.
But some people grow through their pain.
And some simply hand it away
and call it someone else’s burden.
I wish I had learned the difference
before I gave so much of myself
to teach you what you never wanted to learn.