Between Bruises & Blooms

I saw you today.

For one stupid second,
my heart forgot
you had already left.

It recognized you
before the rest of me could—
that old instinct
to soften,
to walk toward you,
to believe there was still
something between us
worth crossing the distance for.

So I did.

And you looked at me
like I was something
you needed to hide.

“I can’t be seen with you.
I’ll get my head kicked in.”

That was it.

No explanation
for the weeks of silence.

No answer
for how I went away
with someone who loved me
and came home
to a ghost.

No funeral
for the plans we made.

No grave
for the house
we talked about living in,
the rooms we imagined
filling with children,
the ordinary mornings
I thought someday
we might wake inside.

Just you,
standing there,

and me realizing
I had been mourning
something
no one had bothered
to tell me was dead.

I didn’t ask why.

I didn’t remind you
that you loved me once.

Didn’t tell you
how many nights
I stared at my phone
wondering what I’d done.

Didn’t ask
whether she had you again
or whether fear
had simply become
more important
than I was.

I put my earbud
back in.

Turned around.

Walked away.

And maybe
that was the goodbye
you never had
the courage
to give me.

Because I saw you today,

and for the first time
since you disappeared,

I wasn’t the one
waiting for you
to come back.

I was the one
leaving.