He Doesn't Change

There’s something you learn the hard way about love.

Not the kind in movies, not the kind that fixes you — the kind that slowly breaks you, one ignored cry at a time.

You learn that love isn’t proven by staying.

It’s proven by changing.

And when a man can sit there, watching you fall apart — watching you cry so hard your chest tightens — and he still walks away,

or worse, he rolls over and goes to sleep like your pain is white noise he’s used to tuning out…

that’s when you realize it:

he never loved you the way you kept trying to love him.

You beg for communication.

He says you’re nagging.

You ask for honesty.

He calls you dramatic.

He’ll say “I’m sorry” without meaning it, because he’s not sorry for the damage —

he’s sorry you noticed.

And he’ll sleep soundly, while you’re left wide awake wondering what version of yourself you have to kill next just to keep him comfortable.

Here’s what no one tells you —

when you cry long enough for someone who never shows up,

your sadness eventually gets tired of being quiet.

It turns into anger.

And the world will point at you and say “see? now she’s the problem.”

But you were never the problem.

You were just never seen when you were still soft.

He’ll accuse you of overreacting,

of bringing up the past,

of lighting the match —

but he’ll forget it was his hands that struck it first.

And you’ll stand there trying to explain accountability to someone who’s never looked in a mirror long enough to see his own reflection.

At some point, you stop asking for apologies.

You stop begging for “I’ll do better.”

Because what you really wanted wasn’t his words — it was for him to finally feel what he did to you.

You wanted silence to keep him up the way it’s kept you up.

You wanted the sting to reach him, to make him understand that love without effort is just possession in disguise.

You wanted him to feel what it’s like to break someone who still believed in him.

But he won’t.

Because if he could’ve, he already would have.

You spend years thinking your patience is loyalty,

but really it’s self-betrayal dressed in devotion.

You tell yourself “he’ll change” because believing that lie is easier than accepting that the man you built your world around was never planning to rebuild himself.

And when the truth finally hits, it doesn’t explode — it seeps.

It comes in the quiet moments when you’re making coffee alone,

when you catch yourself still explaining your side out loud to an empty room.

That’s when you realize: you were never asking for too much.

You were just asking the wrong man.

I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve sat there begging for a heartbeat beside me to wake up and see me.

I’ve watched a man fall asleep next to me while I cried into the same pillow.

And every time, I told myself maybe he just doesn’t know how to love right.

But maybe he did.

Maybe he just didn’t love me enough to try.

A woman falls in love with a man for the way he treats her.

And she falls out for the same reason.

Simple.

Cruel.

True.

And this is the cycle—

he says the words he knows will tear me open,

then tosses out an apology the minute he needs things to go back to normal,

just enough to keep me spinning, just enough to keep himself comfortable.

He’ll come home, do a chore or two, walk around the house like a wounded puppy,

and act like that erases everything he just did—

like all the pain and anger should vanish because he muttered “I’m sorry” before he walked through the door.

But it never erases a thing.

It just adds another scar.

Sometimes, you fight like hell, you give every last piece of yourself, and they still fucking leave.

Sometimes, you’re not the problem or the cure — you’re just the last thing left to blame on their way out the door.

And you’re left sitting in the aftermath, staring at a silence so big it eats the whole goddamn house, knowing he meant every word when he said he’s done.

He’s really gone.

After all those years, all that loyalty, he just walks away and doesn’t look back.

And you have to figure out how to live in the nothing he leaves behind.

You have to learn how to be your own reason to get up, to breathe, to take the next step, even when every inch of you is screaming that you were never enough for him to fight for.

I am alone. I am shattered.

And tonight, all i have left—is the truth i never wanted to believe.

"I can't be the person you want me to be. I wasn't good enough for u 10 yrs ago, and I can't be good enough for you now and I'm not listening to whatever you send me."

He just walks away—

like i was never worth fighting for.