The Version You Knew Poem by cassidy Lovato

There is a strange kind of loneliness
in being known
by someone
who never truly knew you.

You met me years ago,
but not once
did you ask
how I became who I was.

You never learned
what built me,
what broke me,
what haunted me,
or what stitched me
back together again.

Instead,
you filled in the empty spaces
with assumptions.

You decided
who I was
long before
I ever had the chance
to introduce myself.

Maybe
I made that easy.

My humor has always been dark.
My words sometimes arrive
before their explanation.

But understanding someone
requires curiosity.

You never seemed interested
in curiosity.

Only conclusions.

We were never really friends
because of each other.

We orbited
the same sun.

Sometimes
our paths crossed.
Sometimes
we laughed.
Sometimes
it almost felt
like we had found common ground.

But there was always
something careful
about the way I stood beside you.

I measured my words.

Questioned my thoughts.

Edited myself
before they ever reached the air.

Not because I feared disagreement.

Because I feared
being misunderstood.

Again.

Your opinions
filled every room.

Sharp.

Confident.

Certain.

A sword
that rarely stopped
to wonder
what it had cut through.

When everything finally unraveled,
people expected heartbreak.

Instead,
I exhaled.

Not because I wished you harm.

But because
I no longer had to convince myself
that shrinking
was the same thing
as belonging.

You called me things
that never belonged to me.

You built a story
from assumptions,
then believed it
without ever asking
if it was true.

The hardest part
wasn't being judged.

It was realizing
you had never been looking
at me
at all.

And somehow,
during one of the happiest chapters
of my life,
you chose
to make me
the villain
in yours.

That was enough.

There are some people
you explain yourself to.

Others,
you quietly release.

I chose the latter.

Not because I hated you.

Because peace
no longer needed
your understanding.

One day,
I'm sure
our paths will cross again.

I'll smile.

You'll smile.

Perhaps we'll speak.

Perhaps we won't.

We'll always be connected
by people
we both love.

But not by each other.

You will carry
your version of me.

I'll carry
the truth.

And after all these years,

I think
that's enough.