Between Bruises & Blooms

Before there was
survival,

there was possibility.

Before I knew
how loud
your anger could become,

I knew
your laugh.

Before I learned
the distance
between your hand
and a thrown blade,

I learned
the distance
between us
on a couch

and how quickly
you could close it.

There was once
nothing complicated
about wanting you.

I liked you.

You liked me.

And somewhere
inside that simplicity

we built
an entire future.

Not because
we were foolish.

Because that is
what people do
when something
feels good.

They imagine
more of it.

Tomorrow.

Next month.

Next year.

Maybe forever.

There was once
a possibility
of us two.

And I think
that is what
I mourn sometimes—

not the relationship
we became,

but the tiny,
beautiful doorway
we once stood inside

before either of us
knew

where it led.