I trespassed through many lives,
some of them mine,
yours most of all.
Being young
does not excuse,
only shows how long
I've known better.
I thought breaking
was just another way
to change shape.
I mistook leaving
for becoming.
You stayed.
You learned to sleep
on a wet pillow.
I know.
I brought the storm
and called it weather.
You wake.
You endure.
You build a life
where I am a name,
a story you no longer tell.
You rise
like someone who had to.
I vanish,
like someone who chose to.
I see it.
Even now.
And I wonder
what it cost you
to stay kind
to the memory
of me.
