I am not at fault for loving him. My heart simply did what it was meant to do: to feel, to hope, and to give love. I loved him with all the sincerity I had, with the most beautiful parts of myself. I loved him without calculation, without demands, without expecting anything more than his presence in my life.
My love was never a mistake. It was a part of me—a living, breathing truth in every glance, every heartbeat, every dream. I loved him not because he was perfect, but because he made me believe that love was real. I chose to trust, to give, to stay—not because I was weak, but because I was brave.
So if someone hurt me, if someone failed to cherish that love, the fault was not mine. The fault was his—the one who wasn’t mature enough to hold something so precious. The one who wasn’t gentle enough to see that a heart was beating sincerely for him. The one who wasn’t courageous enough to love me kindly in return.
I am not at fault for loving him. My only fault would be forgetting to love myself because of someone who didn’t know how to love me. But I won’t let that happen. I will still be me—still tender, still strong, still believing in love. Because love is never wrong. Only those who fail to protect it are.
And one day, when I love someone who knows how to love me the right way, I will understand: love was never the mistake. It only needed to be placed in the right hands, at the right time, with the right heart.
