The Pride That Burned the Bridge

He didn’t lose me because he didn’t love me. He lost me because he didn’t kneel.

I don’t think he ever meant to lose me.

I think he loved me in his own way.

But only when I felt small.

Only when I was cracked open.

Only when I needed him enough for him to feel like a man.

He didn’t know how to love a woman in her full height.

He knew how to comfort, but not how to co-build.

He could hold me when I was soft and teary,

but not when I was sharp and certain.

I remember the shift.

It always came after a moment of power.

When I spoke with clarity. When I didn’t shrink.

That’s when he’d say something cruel.

That’s when he’d pull away, bait, belittle, accuse.

Like he couldn’t stand seeing me steady

without wondering where that left him.

And still—I gave him grace.

I didn’t want him perfect.

I wanted him real.

I would’ve waited for messy, if it meant progress.

But he wouldn’t move.

He wouldn’t apologize.

Because in his world, apology meant collapse.

To say sorry was to say: “I am small.”

And he could only handle being small if I was smaller.

So he gambled with me.

He thought distance would discipline me.

That if he stayed quiet long enough, I’d come crawling back.

But I don’t crawl. I don’t play the loyalty game with someone who confuses power with withholding.

He underestimated the silence.

Didn’t realize it was his final card.

Because I wasn’t punishing him.

I was protecting myself.

From a man who would rather watch me leave

than kneel long enough to say,

“You’re right. I hurt you. I want to do better.”

He saw my strength as an opponent.

Not a shelter. Not an ally. Not a place to grow.

And so, he burned the bridge.

Not with fire, but with pride.

The slow, choking kind.

The kind that kills love in increments.

That makes you bleed by a thousand almosts.

He still doesn’t know what he lost.

Not fully.

Maybe one day he will.

Maybe one day, when he meets someone who expects less, he’ll remember what it felt like to be loved by someone who asked for his best.

But by then, the woman he once knew will have built her own world.

One where love doesn’t require a reduction.

Where pride doesn’t pose as strength.

Where bridges don’t burn when someone speaks the truth.