Rain-streaked window with blurred city lights at night, emotional tone.

To the Performer

You couldn’t handle a real woman.
So you entertained distractions.
The ones who’ll never ask the hard questions.
The ones who only see your smile — not the lies behind it.
The ones who think you’re innocent, simply because they don’t know what it costs to love you deeply.

But I did.
I saw every crack.
Every trauma.
Every twisted truth you tried to hide —
and I still chose you.

You called that love “too much.”
But what you really meant was:
“You saw too much.”
And that terrified you.

So you ran.
Not because you didn’t care.
But because I was real — and you only knew how to perform.

They’ll praise your bare minimum because they don’t know better.
But I do.

And one day, when your mask slips,
you’ll remember the woman who never needed it in the first place.

Your looks fooled them.
Your lies fooled them.
But I wasn’t one of them — I loved you knowing the truth.
And that’s what scared you.

— M.j.P

✒️ #UnsentLetter #SelfWorth #LettingGo

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