I leave the door open.
I’m not waiting for you, I swear.

Not lying back,
head against the wall,
yearning at every creak in the floorboards
like it might mean
you’ve come back.

I’m not waiting.

But if you poked your head through,
and all the memories came rushing in—
I know I’d forget
every petty grudge
I’ve nurtured
to fill the space you left.

I’m not waiting.

But every second without you
feels like a knife in the back.
Like my body is dissolving
under the weight
of not being enough for you.

I’m not waiting.

But if you walked in again—
the way you always do—
only to disappear,
only to forget me
until the next time you get bored…
I know
I would still welcome you.

I’m not waiting.

But when I see your face,
something in me
melts.

Years of feeling unwanted,
unlovable—
all undone
because your love
has always felt like enough.

Because your love
is all the love I thought I needed.

I say I’m not waiting,
but the door is still cracked.
And my heart still flinches
at every whisper,
every movement,
as if maybe
you’re waiting too.

I’m not waiting for you.

But the only person
I care to let through that door
is you.