Between Bruises & Blooms

I had already
given our future
a heartbeat.

There were rooms
I imagined us sleeping in,

roads
I thought we’d travel,

ordinary mornings
where your coffee
sat beside mine.

Nothing extravagant.

Just a life.

Just you.

Just me.

Just enough peace
to finally stop running.

But you vanished
while I was still
building it.

Left me standing
inside a house
that never existed,

holding keys
to doors
we would never open.

So I buried it.

The kitchen.

The bedroom.

The late-night drives.

The stupid arguments.

The laughter.

The version of me
who thought
you would be there.

I buried every damn thing.

And sometimes
I still visit the grave.

Not because
I want you back,

but because
there was once
a woman here

who believed
you meant it.

And I miss her
sometimes.