Between Bruises & Blooms

You called me patient.

Maybe
I was.

I waited
through apologies.

Through promises.

Through nights
when loving you
felt less
like partnership

and more
like standing
outside a locked door
waiting
for the man
I loved
to come back.

I forgave
things
I should have
called endings.

I mistook
understanding
for obligation.

I thought
loving someone
meant giving them
time

to become
who they said
they wanted
to be.

So I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until patience
became
a bruise.

Until forgiveness
became
a room
I couldn't leave.

Until hope
was just another word
for

maybe tomorrow
will be different.

You were right.

I was patient.

Far too patient.

I was patient
until patience
started hurting.

Then finally

I became
something else.

Gone.