too late

Too Late

You always ask, "Who has wounded you?"
"Name them, and I shall strike them down."
I answer only with a quiet smile,
For it was you who carved the deepest wound.

You carry on as though I were never yours,
As though my absence left no empty place.
Each word I speak to you
Falls like the edge of a sharpened blade—
Not to harm,
But because truth has learned to bleed.

Earthly love is a fragile thing,
Too often bent by comfort and convenience.
How sorrowful that the word love
So often arrives too late—
When every wound lies bare,
And every tear has already been shed,
When regret is all that remains
To cradle a heart beyond repair.

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Too Late

You always ask, "Who has wounded you?"
"Name them, and I shall strike them down."
I answer only with a quiet smile,
For it was you who carved the deepest wound.

You carry on as though I were never yours,
As though my absence left no empty place.
Each word I speak to you
Falls like the edge of a sharpened blade—
Not to harm,
But because truth has learned to bleed.

Earthly love is a fragile thing,
Too often bent by comfort and convenience.
How sorrowful that the word love
So often arrives too late—
When every wound lies bare,
And every tear has already been shed,
When regret is all that remains
To cradle a heart beyond repair.

Not matter what happens you always chooses others above me

And watching how I bleed dry

I never thought of losing the things were dear to me but now

Me and destiny we are  one breath away from crossing that line

My hopes little by little  it fade away breaking everything apart  and it stand in his side outside my heart