Between Bruises & Blooms

The door is still there.

That’s the funny part.

Same hinges.

Same lock.

Same little crack
where winter air
creeps through.

But I changed.

Once,

I would’ve opened it
for the sound
of your breathing.

Would’ve welcomed you back
before you apologized.

Would’ve taken scraps
and called them supper

because hunger
can make almost anything
look like love.

But I eat differently now.

I sleep differently.

I love myself
a little louder.

And the door
you once walked through
like it belonged to you

is locked tonight.

Not because I hate you.

Not because
I stopped remembering.

But because
I finally understand:

missing someone
doesn’t mean
they deserve access.

The door is still there.

You just don’t
have a key anymore.