boundaries
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The same door remains, but the woman behind it no longer mistakes hunger for love or scraps for a meal.
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She was willing to stay through fear and mess, but love could not survive being the only person still reaching.
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Missing her later does not erase the silence that taught her what absence weighs when love refuses to show up.
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She stopped mistaking chaos for love and learned to turn around when a road makes the body remember fear.
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The woman who once waited has already left, and the old door was burned for firewood the moment almost stopped being enough.
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A refusal to inherit someone else’s rage, shrink into their story, or teach her children that love should ever sound like fear.
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The work may not come with a paycheck, but every poem and page is building something real one sentence at a time.
Between Bruises & Blooms 