i crossed the stops and followed the signs,

not for the journey, but to stand by your side.

in a room of strangers, i found my voice,

threading advice like fragile lace,

hoping to weave myself into your world.

but the air shifted, cold and sharp.

a reminder of walls i didn't see.

your craft, your space—yours to defend,

and i, the uninvited spark,

ignited what i never meant to burn.

later, across the fragile bridge of a night talk,

your voice cut through my quiet resolve,

drawing parallels i hadn't drawn.

to shadows cast by others' words,

words that i chipped away at who i was.

i offered a dream of steady tides,

a rhythm where we'd trade our truths,

but you, a free spirit, danced away,

and left my hope to linger in the void.

still, your apology found me,

like a bird returning to a bruised sky.

i cried not just for your words,

but for the echoes they stirred inside,

a fear i've never quite silenced.

now, the morning looms,

and i wonder if my silence

would scream louder than any text,

if the sun will rise on a day

where love feels less heavy to hold.

yet beneath the ache,

i know i loved with both hands open,

and that, perhaps, is the only way

to love at all.