Between Bruises & Blooms

You became fluent
in apologies.

You wore them
like bandages,

placing one gently
over every wound
you had just made.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“You don’t deserve it.”

“I’ll do better.”

And for a moment

I believed
that maybe this time
the weather had changed.

Until the clouds returned
wearing your voice.

Because sorry
was never the end.

It was only
the silence
before the next storm.