Theres no more battles and no winning between us.


I’m still learning to sit quietly with the uncertainty of things.
Yesterday, I met two old classmates, Dennis and Dave, for a simple birthday celebration. There was laughter, singing, and a rare moment where I felt a glimpse of lightness. I sent a video to Sharyn — maybe to share that slice of life, maybe to remind her that I still exist in moments she’s not part of. Her response was mixed, and a little sharp. Jealousy as I hoped it was or just tiredness masked with critique.

She shut down her WhatsApp timestamp again.
This time, she says it's not because of me — it’s to shield her status from him, the one who came in when I was lost in my own spiral. She made a promise to sleep early. I can’t say I fully believe it, but I didn’t press. Maybe I’m tired too.

This morning, I texted her. She didn’t respond immediately but called me instead — curt, defensive, and reminding me not to “read too much” into our long conversations. I reminded her that texting wasn’t clinging — it was honoring what we were. She didn’t argue.

She agreed to let me send her to her grandma’s place.
It felt strangely familiar, like we slipped briefly back into a rhythm — getting food together, her buying snacks for me, the soft calm in the car. But she rejected the ride back. Said she’d take the bus, said she was tired again and needed rest. I believe it's excessive to be resting at 1am woke up at 10am and still feel tired at 2pm. My instinct tells me otherwise. My proving her wrong or lying does not change anything. I just dont want to lied again. At the same time, Sharyn does not owe me anything to explain. 

But something in me stirred. It didn’t feel like rest.
It felt like space. Like a buffer zone being quietly rebuilt. The same patterns, the same soft withdrawal. Her status stayed hidden. And she went quiet. Again.

She texted me later: “Thanks for the ride.”
Twelve minutes after getting off. Courteous. Kind. Distant.

I can’t ask what I really want to ask.
I wonder if he came to fetch her. I wonder if “rest” was something else. I wonder if I’m spiraling again, or if my instincts — the ones I used to question — are finally tuned to the right frequency.

But I held it all in.

I’m learning not to accuse.
Not because I don’t feel hurt, but because I don’t want to be the same Edmond who once broke her spirit. I want to hold dignity in this space, even when it’s filled with silence and doubt.

This isn’t love chasing.
This is memory preservation. And maybe, eventually, this is healing.

I’m not here to prove her wrong.
I’m not here to defend my instincts like a courtroom plea.

I’m just tired of being lied to.

Not because I can’t handle the truth — but because I’ve carried too much pain that came not from what happened, but from what was hidden.

I’d rather face the truth, raw and bare, than be protected by silence only to be wrecked by discovery.

The truth doesn’t kill me. The lies do.

So no, I’m not looking to win. theres no more battle. Theres no winning with the 2 of us really.
I just want to finally stop bleeding from wounds I didn’t see coming.


-- Burn


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