It did not arrive like monsoon.
No thunder warned me,
no lightning split the sky.
Just quiet footsteps.
Soft enough to mistake for care.
I was the space between plans.
The maybe, the “if there’s time.”
A name reached for
when loneliness got loud.
And still, I gave.
Full-hearted, unguarded.
Like the sun never choosing
who deserves the warmth.
Until one day, a pattern:
how easily I was set aside,
how quickly I was remembered
only when it suited.
Moments always tell truths.
That’s when it changed.
Not better, but clearer.
A lesson, finally.
Not about love,
but about where not to leave it again.
Silke 