Every time I tried to be heartless, it felt like a survival instinct. You had done so much to me, leaving scars that ran deep. I thought if I could just shut off that part of myself, I'd be safe. I wouldn't feel the pain that echoed through my days, reminding me of what we had and what was lost.
But no matter how hard I tried, there was always one corner of my heart that wouldn't let go. It whispered to me in the quiet moments, when I was all alone, saying, "It's not you. This isn't who you are."
I tried to drown it out, to silence that voice. I told myself that caring was a weakness, that letting anyone in again would only lead to more hurt. I built walls, high and thick, thinking they would protect me from the world.
Yet, that small corner of my heart refused to be silenced. It remembered the warmth, the laughter, the connection we once shared. It reminded me that love wasn't just about the joy—it was also about the courage to feel, to be vulnerable, even when it hurt.
In the end, I realized that no matter how much I wanted to be heartless, it wasn't in my nature. That one corner of my heart, the part that screamed, "It's not you," was right. I couldn't deny who I was, even if it meant facing the pain head-on.
So, I let the walls down, little by little. I stopped trying to be heartless and embraced the part of me that felt deeply, that cared, that loved. It wasn't easy, and it didn't erase the scars. But it reminded me that being true to myself was worth more than any protection I could build around my heart.