Unbreakable

Wild horses couldn’t drag me
Nothing left to lose
When you step back now
You’re the one to choose

I can sit with it longer
My love does not excuse
The solitude calls stronger
No hurry to refuse

Did you say she was pretty
Did you say she loves you
Time cast a spell
You won’t forget me

I know I could have loved you
But you would not let me
I followed you into Hades
Now I don’t look back

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Post Script

Unbreakable traces the line between endurance and attachment. The speaker isn’t claiming invulnerability, only naming the moment when staying begins to cost more than leaving. What reads as resolve early on is really exhaustion—nothing left to bargain with, nothing left to prove. Strength here isn’t force; it’s stillness.

The poem turns on a small, overheard truth—one of those quiet revelations that reorganizes everything without confrontation. Memory, rather than reconciliation, becomes the lasting bond. Some connections don’t survive, but they persist.

The final descent recalls Orpheus—not in the hope of retrieval, but in the choice not to look back. What’s preserved isn’t the relationship, but the self that survives the journey intact.

Readers may hear echoes along the way—of Wild Horses in the immovable resolve, and Silver Springs in the quieter claim that what mattered will not simply disappear. Those references aren’t explanations, just familiar terrain for a feeling that predates them.

Image Credit

Caspar David Friedrich, Rimtaage, public domain.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons:
Frosty mist and icelandic horse, Randers, Denmark.