There were
stop signs
everywhere.
I just kept
calling them
suggestions.
The first lie.
The first
punched wall.
The first time
my body
went quiet
before my mind
understood why.
Red
was everywhere.
In the flags.
In my face
after crying.
In the warning
my stomach
kept sending
when his footsteps
changed.
But love
made me
color-blind.
Or maybe
hope did.
Maybe I thought
every sign
was something
we could fix
if I drove
carefully enough.
I know now
there are roads
you do not save
by staying on them.
There are warnings
that are not
invitations
to prove
how loyal
you are.
So I learned
to stop.
Not hesitate.
Not explain.
Stop.
And when the road
ahead
looks familiar
in all the wrong ways,
I turn around.
Survival
does not owe
anyone
a scenic route.
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