People Are Poison

People are poison, not the stranger in a dark alley,
but the one who sits beside you and swears they love you,
while teaching you to doubt your own pain.

They don’t change. They justify. They explain.
But they never apologize.
They’d rather carry denial to the grave than face what they’ve caused.

So the apology never arrives, and somehow the damage becomes your responsibility.
And you start carrying it. Quietly. Like it belongs to you.

Trust the discomfort.
Leave.

You need space. You need air. And you need you.
The apology you’ll never get is not your closure. Your distance is.