Between Bruises & Blooms

We called it love.

Of course we did.

What else
were we supposed
to call
something
that burned
that brightly?

You needed me.

I needed
to believe
being needed
meant something.

You held me
like the world
was ending.

I stayed
like I could
prevent it.

We called
jealousy
devotion.

We called
fear
passion.

We called
surviving the bad nights
proof
that we were strong.

We called
coming back
loyalty.

We called
forgiving
love.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until the word
became stretched
so thin
you could see
violence through it.

Call it
what you want.

Some call it love.

I did.

Once.

Now I know
love can exist
inside something
that is still
destroying you.

That is the tragedy.

Not that
I never loved you.

That I did.

And eventually
I had to learn

love
was not enough
to make staying
safe.