It’s rare that I cry.
Not even for my life.
But when I do, it’s a single tear.
A tear that rolls along.
Creeping from the corner,
Sliding down my cheek.
I don’t push it away.
I don’t wipe it.
I allow it to tickle and taunt me.
It’s proof.
Proof that what I feel is true.
Proof that it wasn’t me,
It was you.