I wish you stayed a stranger.

I don’t think there was some grand plan behind us —
I think the universe just slipped up.
Got careless.
Looked away for a second,
and by the time it turned back around,
we had collided.
And the damage was already done.

I don’t think you were some beautiful lesson.
I don’t think you made me wiser,
or stronger,
or better.
You just made me different.
You made me heavier.
Colder.
Harder to reach.

You’re not the reason I grew —
you’re the reason I built walls I never needed before.
The reason I second-guess the kindest hands that try to hold me now.

Sometimes I replay it all —
the moment we met,
the split second
where one small turn,
one slight hesitation,
could have changed everything.
Could have saved me.

Because if we had never met —
I would still believe in good endings.
I would still love like the ground couldn’t fall out from under me.
There would be fewer pieces of me I’m still trying to glue back together.

I would still take late-night drives
without your memory hijacking the passenger seat.
I would still laugh with old friends
without hearing my own bitterness in the echo.
I would still believe that love didn’t have to feel like a battlefield.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger —
they say that like it’s a gift.
But I would have been strong without the scars.
Without the wreckage you left behind.

You were an accident.
Not fate.
Not destiny.
Just the wrong place,
the wrong time,
the wrong person.
A tragedy that never needed to happen.

And God —
I wish you had stayed a stranger.

Unknown Author