There’s a prayer with a sigh—
a breath let out like scripture, 
written in stone, signed by a former lover.

Would you ignore every sign,
just to chase the shape of a feeling?
In over your head, thinking you’re 
heading in the right direction—
when even the stars have stopped pointing.

A little too forceful, a little too often,
repeating the same mistake like it’s part 
of the ritual— a pattern etched in skin,
but called _love_, to make it sting less.

_But maybe_… it’s the measure that matters most—
how the repetition finally taught you to become
your own ruler. Not of someone else’s heart,
but of your own.