You never said the words—
not the ones that build a future,
just the ones that kept me tethered
to a moment that was never mine.

Your hands were careful,
like you knew I’d break
if you held me too honestly.
And maybe I would’ve—
but I still would’ve stayed.

You tasted like rain on a July window,
warm, fleeting,
the kind that makes you hope
even as it runs away.

You touched me
like I was a secret
you never meant to keep,
a half-finished thought
buried under your breath.

In the dark, you called it love.
In the light, you called it nothing.
But I called it everything
because I didn’t know the difference yet.

You wore my shirt,
but not the meaning.
You memorized my skin
and forgot my name.

I read your silence like scripture—
searching for the part
where I was chosen.
But your eyes always skipped that verse.

And still, I waited.
Like maybe if I stayed quiet enough,
you’d love me out loud.

But you only loved me in shadows,
where truth can’t reach
and light can’t name
what it isn’t allowed to hold.

You were a ghost
with a heartbeat.
I was a fire
you refused to feed.

I gave you everything but an ultimatum.
You gave me everything but a reason.

And when you left,
I didn’t chase—
because deep down,
I knew you already had.