The Ruin Script

how could you love like this? quietly. completely. knowing from the beginning that nothing would ever turn back toward you? you entered with open hands, not because you were invited, but because you believed love did not need permission. you stayed where warmth was scarce, where recognition arrived only in fragments, and you taught yourself to be grateful for what was never meant to be given.

the yearning grew not because it was fed, but because you kept it alive. watering it with patience, calling restraint a virtue and silence a sign to endure. you told yourself that if you loved carefully enough, deeply enough, it might someday soften into something real. but it never did. and still, you remained. every ache you carried, every fracture you hid, was shaped by your own devotion, you pressed your heart against a closed door and wondered why it bruised.

as if suffering were proof of sincerity.
as if pain when endured could pass for grace.

wake up. love was never meant to feel like an offering laid on an altar that never answers. the pain was never given to you; you forged it yourself. it was the moment you mistook neglect for something holy. you laid yourself down willingly and called the altar love.

so, tell me. ask yourself.
how could you keep bleeding
and still believe it was love?

author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— 25th of january, year 2026
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.