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Constellations and Cracks

Lately, wherever I go, I can feel their eyes on me quiet judgments, half-whispered words behind my back.
I’ve become the villain in a story I never meant to write, the one who “ruined everything.”
The one wearing a scarlet letter, without even knowing when it was sewn there.
And all I ever wanted was peace.
I wanted people to sit at one table without looking at each other like ghosts from old wars.
I wanted that day, our day, to unite, not divide.
But somehow, in trying to heal, I became the wound.
Now the silence around me feels like fog heavy and full of unspoken things.
Darkness swallows me sometimes, and I let it, because fighting it feels too exhausting.
My tears burn, but they remind me I’m still alive. Maybe my only sin was that I cared too much.
I’m not the monster they whisper about.
But I’m not a saint either.
I’m not the victim.
I’m not the villain.
I’m just a woman standing among the ashes of something she once believed in,
trying to understand how love that once held galaxies could suddenly lose its gravity.
Ezra isn’t without fault, and he knows that. None of us are.
Only we know the truth; everyone else knows fragments, colored by imagination.
We lost pieces of the puzzle along the way, too caught in our own storms to see the cracks growing in the quiet.
We stopped talking. We stopped listening.
We started building new promises, new constellations,
and somewhere along the way, forgot to care for the first ones the ones that truly mattered.
Now the constellation is breaking apart. The light is dimming.
And I don’t know if it can be rebuilt.
But I want to try.
Without throwing blame like stones.
Without pretending to be a wounded martyr, even if I was hurt too.
Even if it hurts.
Even if it costs me everything that’s left.
Because somewhere, up there in that sky, between love and loss, between guilt and forgiveness,
I still see the faint outline of who we once were and maybe, who we could still be.

~ Susan