She held his hand because it felt right,
because it was expected,
but every touch lingered too long,
every moment is too heavy.

She told him, in quiet ways,
where the line was drawn—
not in anger, not in fear,
but in hope that he would listen.
He didn’t see the lines,
only the space between them.

Not cruel, not forceful,
just unaware, just moving forward
when she needed to stay still.
She let him in,
more than she wanted to,
more than she should have.
And when she finally pulled away,
she thought he would feel the absence.

But he didn’t.
He walked away untouched,
unburdened,
while she sat with all that had been unintentionally taken.