I thought love would open a window,
but somehow the walls grew higher.
I carried my hopes like lanterns
through years of waiting,
only to find another room,
another lock,
another version of myself
learning how to stay quiet.
Everyone says,
"Be patient."
As if patience is endless.
As if it doesn't wear thin
from holding tears,
from swallowing words,
from smiling when your heart
is too tired to pretend.
I am losing my faith in tomorrows.
Losing my grip on the dreams
I once defended so fiercely.
The life I prayed for arrived,
yet I still stand at the same window,
watching freedom from afar.
Some days,
I don't want more love,
more advice,
more promises.
I just want space.
A breath that belongs to me.
A morning without heaviness.
A life that feels like my own.
And still,
beneath all this exhaustion,
a small part of me survives—
angry,
stubborn.
Refusing to disappear.
Because even now,
when I say I hate this life,
what hurts the most
is that I wanted to love it.
