Once you see the architecture of his mind,
the twisted corridors where empathy never walks,
the machinery designed for harm—
you stop believing it was ever about you.

It wasn’t your weakness that betrayed you,
nor the size of your trust,
nor the warmth in your gaze.
It wasn’t blindness,
it wasn’t naïveté.

It was the difference between two worlds:
yours, a world built to give, to nurture, to love;
his, a world built to wound, to control, to conceal.

And in that quiet, unshakable knowing,
you step out of the shadow of guilt
and into the sunlight of clarity.

Your heart, fragile yet unbreakable,
beats in a rhythm he cannot follow.
You were never too soft,
never too open,
never too human.

You were simply in a world he was not designed to enter.
And in that truth, there is freedom,
and, at last, peace.