The Price of Knowing

I lived in the echo

before the sound arrived,

felt the breaking of things

that hadn’t yet died.

I walked in tomorrow

while you slept in today,

hearing the thunder

you swore was miles away.

I tasted the storm

before it touched the sky,

knew the truth of the fall

long before your goodbye.

I spoke in warnings,

you heard in doubt —

I screamed from the inside

while you shut me out.

They called it “too much,”

said I think too deep —

but I saw the waves

while you stayed fast asleep.

I carried the fracture

before the glass split,

held the ending together

so the world wouldn’t quit.

Then when the rain came

and soaked through your skin,

you said, “If we’d listened,

we might have won.”

Funny how hindsight

wears a shining crown —

you crown me a prophet

only after the house burns down.

I don’t choose the knowing,

it chooses me —

like stars writing secrets

I’m forced to read.

The universe whispers

inside my chest,

teaches me the worst

before it gives me the best.

It’s a blessing in daylight,

a curse in the night —

beautiful torment

disguised as sight.

Because knowing saves others

but scars me inside —

I see every ending

before I can hide.

I love with foresight,

and that’s the cost —

I save you from breaking

while feeling lost.

So walk in my shoes

if you dare to try —

see every goodbye

before the first “hi.”

You’d call it a miracle,

call it divine —

until the knowing

began to bleed you dry.

A gift made of starlight,

a wound made of truth —

I pay the price of seeing

so the world can see through.

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