The Difference.

I went back. I went back to the broken pieces on the floor. I went back, that was the fault of mine and not yours.

A second chance giver doesn’t make me a saint, it makes me a soft hearted girl with hope to his name.

The difference is that I know second chances run out. They don’t becomes thirds, they don’t become a lifestyle the “ignorant girls” allow. 

Hopelessly hopeful can’t hold all those bricks. It can’t support the foundation that you sorely will miss. 

It’s in my nature to try it again. It’s who I am to give you that second chance to make or to end. I don’t regret that I gave you that chance; everyone can become a better man. 

You deserved more than the silence of “never again,” you don’t anymore and that’s what the difference is in. 


7 thoughts on “The Difference.

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