There’s a version of love we don’t talk about enough — the kind that lives on after trust has been broken, the kind that stays even when the heart has been bruised more than once.

It’s a strange, conflicted place to be — still here, but not really whole. Wanting to try, but afraid of what trying might cost.

Lately, I’ve been noticing how easily I get angry. Not over the big things — but over the small, almost invisible ones. Things that maybe wouldn’t matter if my heart didn’t already feel like it was standing on cracked ground.

The truth is, my anger isn’t really about him.
It’s about fear.
Fear that the ground will crack again.
Fear that if I trust, I’ll end up back in the same lonely place, wondering why I stayed.
Fear that trying again means betraying myself, that forgiveness might cost me more than it heals.
Fear that maybe love isn’t enough if trust can’t find its way back.

No one tells you how heavy it is to carry love and fear at the same time.
No one teaches you how to speak gently when you’re scared.
No one prepares you for how easy it is to hurt someone when you’re only trying to protect yourself.