I've built my walls brick by brick,
each one a memory of love lost,
of trust betrayed,
of promises that crumbled
before they could take root.
I distance myself with careful hands,
keep the world at arm's length,
afraid that if I let anyone close,
they'll see the cracks I've been hiding
and leave me broken all over again.
I pull away from those who care,
convincing myself they won't understand,
that they'll tire of my silence,
or worse,
that they'll try to fix something
that can't be fixed.
I push away the love I crave,
because loving feels like a risk nowâ
a game I've already lost too many times.
So I let the spaces grow wider,
let the distance become a shield,
and convince myself
that solitude is safer than heartache.
But somewhere in the quiet,
I wonder if I'm suffocating
in my own fear of being hurt,
if the walls I've built
are keeping me from something
I'll never know if I don't dare
to let it in.
Maybe one day,
I'll tear down the walls
and let the world back in.
But for now,
I stay behind the distance
I've carved,
waiting for the right moment
to trust again.