The Promise I Was Never Meant to Keep

I told myself I would be different.

I would not become another story

that begins with hope

and ends with silence.

I swore I would recognize the pattern —

the rehearsed affection,

the temporary warmth,

the role I always seem to play

in someone else’s unfinished film.

I said I would never again

mistake attention for intention.

Never fall for the first person

who looks at me

like I am more than background noise.

Never fall for the one

who smiles when she sees me —

not politely,

not conveniently —

but genuinely.

I promised I would not be moved

by someone who listens

without waiting for her turn to speak.

Someone who talks to me

and the conversation doesn’t feel like effort —

it flows,

like neither of us are performing.

No awkward pauses.

No forced laughter.

Just presence.

I told myself I would not be swayed

by someone who sees me

as a person —

not a favor,

not a fallback,

not a supporting character.

Someone who feels less like a risk

and more like a refuge.

Someone I can sit with

and talk about today —

not fantasy futures,

not grand plans —

just this moment.

Someone who can laugh

at the ridiculous wounds we survived

and still choose to stay.

I said I would never fall

for someone who feels safe.

Safe —

not boring.

Not predictable.

But steady.

Someone who understands

without interrogation.

Who doesn’t drag my past

into every new sunrise.

Someone who makes the morning

feel less like a burden.

I hate mornings.

But the thought of her

makes something inside me wake up

before the sun does.

Even on my worst days —

the heavy ones,

the quiet ones —

she doesn’t just brighten the room.

She shifts the gravity of my world.

She cheers for my smallest victories.

She stands still

when I feel like collapsing.

She stays.

And that is the most dangerous part.

Because I promised myself

I wouldn’t fall

for the first person

who makes me feel

seen.

I promised I would not repeat

the cycle everyone else seems

to walk into willingly.

But what is a promise

made out of fear?

What is discipline

when the heart finally feels understood?

Maybe I am not different.

Maybe I am just human.

Maybe love was never the mistake —

only the way we try to control it.

I once promised myself

I would not become

another chapter in the same old story.

But here I am —

standing at the beginning again,

wondering

if this time

it isn’t a cycle…

but a choice.