LIVIA'S BOOKLET

He entered love with open hands, palms soft with promise, heart unarmored. He learned too late that vows can bruise, that “forever” sometimes speaks in raised voices and silence sharp enough to draw blood. He carries storms no one names for him— words that belittle, glances that wound, a home where his strength is questioned daily even mirrors hesitate to recognize the man he used to be. They say a man must endure, must not break, so he swallows grief like bitter medicine, smiles through gatherings, pays the bills of peace, and mourns himself quietly when the woman he loves becomes his heaviest cross. And still, at night, he prays without language— for gentler mornings, for love without fear, for a day his heart is not a battlefield. Not because he is weak, but because even strong men bleed in silence.

Today I feel sharp, charged, and unapologetically alive: Some people arrive like medicine, smiling bottles with sweet labels, but their kindness ferments in silence, by the time you taste the truth, it’s already burning your throat. They drink from your well without asking, spill nothing back but dust and excuses. Your generosity feeds them, yet they call it entitlement, and leave the cup empty like it owed them. Gratitude dies easily in greedy mouths. They clap for your rise, but curse the height once you stand taller. Your light becomes their irritation proof that they never came to heal. Poison people rot slowly and blame the air. They wound with comfort, sting with familiar voices, and swear innocence your spirit learns to bleed quietly. So burn the antidote into your name. Walk away loud, alive, and unashamed. Let them choke on the absence of you, some lessons are swallowed too late, and some poisons deserve no cure.

I counted bruises like broken promises, Tracing the map of love that never was. Your words were knives, your hands storms, And I wore your anger like a second skin. Nights whispered fear into my bones, Sleep was a stranger, dreams a battlefield. I begged the walls to hold my tears, But silence only echoed your rage. I am leaving fragments of myself behind, Pieces scattered where your darkness thrived. No more chains of fear, no more apologies, Only the hollow ache of freedom gained. I walk away with trembling resolve, The echoes of your wrath fading behind me. Love should never break, it should never hurt, And I will learn to breathe in a world without you.