I heard them—
low voices curling through the dark,
soft as breath, sharp as broken glass.
I wasn’t supposed to hear.
But I did.
My name—
slipped from their mouths like a secret too heavy,
like a blade drawn slow.
And suddenly,
the walls felt too close,
the air too thick,
the space between us, a battlefield.
I knew what this was.
I’d seen the signs.
The hush when I entered,
the careful glances,
the way the night swallowed their words whole.
I knew—
I knew.
So I lunged.
Didn’t hesitate, didn’t breathe,
just cut.
Words like wildfire,
rage like a flood,
my voice a wrecking ball crashing through their quiet.
And then—
stillness.
No fight.
No denial.
Just eyes wide, hands empty,
hearts bleeding from wounds they never saw coming.
A gift, they said.
A surprise, they said.
A moment of joy,
crushed beneath the weight of my fear.
And suddenly, I am the villain.
The shadow in the room.
The storm where there should have been sun.
I built a monster out of whispers,
let it crawl into my bones,
let it tell me the only story I wanted to hear.
And now, here I stand,
watching trust turn to dust,
watching love fade into silence,
watching them walk away—
because I never thought to ask
before I chose to burn.
