What was Hidden is Now Visible

(Inspired by the Ace of Swords card) 

The Ace of Swords struck mid-argument.

Words I didn’t plan. Words I didn’t even know were in me.
They cut through the noise, straight from my soul.

“You’re so cold,” he said. “I can’t even tell if you love me anymore.”

“Have you ever stopped to think—
I have carried everything I possibly could these last four years,
so you could fall apart in peace… because I love you?”

“I guess I didn’t think of it like that.”

Strike. 

It wasn’t just a comeback. It wasn’t even anger.
It was a truth I had buried so deep inside me, it had to claw its way out.

The silence afterward wasn’t peaceful. It was punctured.
There were no words left—for him, for me, for what we’d built.

My spirit was broken.
Battered. Bruised.
My hands—raw and bloody from holding everything together.

For what? 

I was running a race with no finish line.
Performing on a stage with no curtain to come down.

For what?

I had been the strong one. The steady one.
The one who patched the leaks and kept the lights on, even in the dark.

But in that moment, I realized something terrifying:

No one had asked me to do it.
They had just learned to let me.

I had become the net beneath everyone’s fall,
while no one noticed I was unraveling.

And still—I kept performing.
Kept bending.
Kept bleeding.

All in the name of love.
All in the name of devotion.
All to keep the illusion alive.

But the sword doesn’t just reveal the truth.
It severs the lie.

That was the crack.
The beginning of the unraveling.

The first time I truly saw the weight I carried.
But it wasn’t the first time I carried it.

Not even close.