I’m sorry I loved you like that,
like my soul already knew you.

Not just the magnetic force of you,
but every version you buried:
the boy who flinched,
the man who ran,
the heart that never thought it was worth staying for.

I saw it all,
the shadows, the fractures,
the beautiful, broken mess of you.
And I loved you anyway.

I’m sorry I loved you
the way I did,
with everything,
when you were only ever half-open.
I’m sorry for the love
your hands weren’t
steady enough to hold.
I’m sorry I still carry it,
fiercely, quietly,
like it has no expiration date.