You tried to make everyone happy, but you never make yourself happy.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbbDDucnIVf
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0E6XpvKJKc
My wish is simple: a chance, just one chance.
55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzvDidAcNZU
I've done things, some good, but many that were undeniably wrong. 55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvWsmVTDf5P
I'm not here to justify my past sins. They weren’t. There’s no excuse, no redemption hidden in the way I once moved through the world.
What I did to people wasn’t strength or survival. It was selfishness.
I lived for approval, measuring my worth by how others saw me. I bent myself into their expectations, desperate to be accepted, to be loved. To feel anything but the pain I carried in silence.
And in that desperate pursuit, I hurt people. Too many.
I broke their trust. I disrupted their peace. I turned their days into nightmares. While telling myself it was normal, that it was just the way things were.
But it wasn’t okay. It never was.
I didn’t know how to stop.
By the time I opened my eyes to the damage I’d done, the wreckage was already piled too high. The apologies felt empty, like whispers shouted into a storm that had already passed and left nothing standing.
I tried. I truly did.
I asked for chances, begged for time to fix it—to make things right. But some wounds go too deep. Some bridges don’t just burn—they crumble into ash.
And no matter how much I wanted to rebuild, I had to face the truth: not everything broken can be mended.
Regret is a heavy thing. It doesn’t shout—it lingers, quiet and constant, a dull ache that sits behind your ribs and reminds you of what you lost. What you ruined.
All I can do now is carry it. And maybe, just maybe, keep choosing differently, even if the past never lets go.
Two years ago, someone walked into my life and offered me something I had longed for, a second chance. A chance to make things right. To rebuild what I had broken. To heal the people I once hurt, and maybe, to finally heal myself.
But perhaps… God hasn’t given me permission to claim that chance. Not yet.
Because even now, two years later, that promise remains out of reach, like a door I’ve knocked on a thousand times but never opened.
Who can I blame?
For years, I was the storm in other people’s lives. I dragged them down, drowned them in my selfishness, and left them to gasp for breath. Maybe this is what they felt back then: helpless, anxious, angry, and suffocated.
Maybe this is what it means to carry the weight of what you’ve done.
And maybe… I haven’t finished paying for it yet.
Still, I hope. I hope that this Monday will be the day it finally changes. That the chance I’ve been waiting for will arrive, quietly but clearly.
And when it does, I’ll hold it close. I’ll do what’s right.
And maybe—just maybe—I’ll finally be able to breathe. To live. To be happy again.
My wish may be heavy—too heavy for some to understand.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuHk7W25Z9W
But in truth, it’s just one thing.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡesj9bvEg5v
Just one chance.
One chance to make it right.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFn8WmyFcgV
Not to erase the past—I know I can’t.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4GPcUDtHAC
But to face it.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyRyw2mFJka
To make peace with it.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ69tGpmgQH8
To show that I’ve changed, that I can be better, even if it’s late.
Just one chance.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoSNO1zBDqM
Not to be perfect.55Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTet1H38hLn
But to be human and forgiven.
