Between Bruises & Blooms

There was a time
I would have opened the door
before you even knocked.

I would have heard your footsteps
from halfway down the road
and mistaken them
for an apology.

I would have let you in
with all your excuses
still dripping from your mouth,

would have made room
beside me
for the man who taught me
how lonely love could feel.

But you waited too long.

You left me standing
in the dark
with my hands full
of everything
I had tried to give you.

So I learned.

I learned how to carry
my own heart home.

How to sleep
without waiting
for my phone to light up.

How to stop searching
every silence
for some hidden version
of I still love you.

I learned that missing you
was not the same thing
as needing you.

That loving you
did not mean
I had to leave the door unlocked.

And somewhere
between grieving you
and surviving you,

I stopped waiting.

That was when you lost me.

Not when you disappeared.

Not when you chose silence.

Not even when you broke
the parts of me
that still believed
you would come back.

You lost me
when I realized
I could live without you.

When the quiet
stopped hurting.

When my own company
started feeling
more like home
than you ever did.

Now you can knock.

You can call.

You can stand outside
holding every word
I once begged you to say.

But the woman
who would have opened that door
doesn’t live here anymore.

I chose her.

I chose me.

And darling,

you came back
far too late.