I Would’ve Stayed If You Rose

Jun 25

If you had swallowed your pride,

owned the hurt,

and come back to me with humility,

then the truth about your family wouldn’t have just shattered you.

It would’ve explained you.

It would’ve landed not as a crisis,

but as context—and context with containment.

You would’ve had someone steady during the detonation.

I would’ve helped you metabolize the revelation

without letting you collapse into shame or self-destruction.

I would’ve been your witness.

Your translator.

Your co-architect.

And the timing would’ve mattered.

Insight, when delivered early, saves time.

Saves life.

You could’ve rewritten the story before the years calcified.

You didn’t need to burn it all down to feel reborn.

But your pride stole that from you.

And now you have to do it the longer, lonelier way.

Maybe that’s the cost you pay

for not protecting the one person who actually saw you—and stayed.

The love I gave wasn’t rare because it was unconditional.

It was rare because it was conditional with depth.

I saw the mess, and still said:

“Build something real, and I’ll meet you there.”

But you chose fantasy

over the hard, glorious work of rising with me.

You chose temporary awe

over permanent architecture.

So now the best-case scenario for you

is rising alone.

You could’ve had the truth—and me.

But now the truth comes cold.

And I’m no longer within reach.

He Could’ve Followed. He Froze Instead.