I Am Not the One Who Runs Away

I am not the person
who walks into love so easily.
It takes me years,
six of them,
after my first heartbreak,
to even open that door again.

And when I did,
it lasted six months.
Six months of hope,
and then silence,
because he wasn’t ready
to stand up for me.

So, I left.
Left Delhi.
Left the noise, the whispers,
the weight of eyes
that always had something to say.
I went to Mumbai,
not to escape,
but to breathe.
To think.
To heal what was left of me.

But they said I ran.
Ran from problems,
from people,
from truth.
Funny how choosing peace
is called running away.

I built myself again in that city.
Worked hard,
thrived,
stood on my own feet.
I was inches from a promotion,
until I came back,
for family,
for love.
And still,
they said I ran.

Does choosing your mental health
mean running?
Does saving yourself
mean surrendering?

Then came him.
A friend’s friend.
A light in my quiet city.
He made me feel like I was his world,
and for a while,
I believed it.
But love has layers,
and when you peel them,
you see truth,
raw, uneven,
sometimes cruel.

I was his world,
until one day he believed
he was just my punching bag.

I never shared much before.
I carried my pain
like folded letters
in a locked drawer.
But he made me speak,
made me open,
made me trust.
And then,
those words were used against me.

I became the girl who ran away.
The angry one.
The one who never listens.
The one who says too much
when she’s mad.

Yes, I get angry.
I have fire,
but I’ve learnt to live with it.
It used to burn me,
now it burns bridges.
And still,
I never meant to hurt.

But to him,
I’m selfish.
Two-faced.
Changing colours like a chameleon
trying to blend into love.

Isn’t it cruel,
that the person
who once felt like home
can now make your heart ache
in your own house?

I spoke in anger.
He threw the same words back.
But somehow,
I became the villain.
The one who destroyed
what I was trying to save.

He says he’ll stay,
but he won’t feel.
How do you stay
with someone
who shuts the door on his heart
but keeps you standing
on the other side?

Maybe I was wrong
to love again too soon.
Maybe I mistook comfort
for connection.
But he felt safe,
like home,
like finally,
I didn’t have to fight to belong.

Now, I’m tired.
Tired of explaining.
Tired of being misunderstood.
Tired of being called
what I am not.

I didn’t needed a solution.
I just needed someone to listen.
To sit beside me
without turning my pain
into a debate.

I’ve never used someone’s scars
as weapons,
but somehow,
mine are always fair game.

Maybe this is life,
loving, losing, learning.
Maybe this is strength,
to keep standing
when everyone says
you ran away.

Because I didn’t.
I never ran.
I simply chose
to walk toward myself again.