Mirror of My Wounds

 

Photo by Jens Mahnke on Pexels

It’s been almost a year

and the memory doesn’t glow anymore.

It sits there, like a bruise

I’ve pressed too many times.

The first date,

I thought it could be something,

a core memory,

a start worth holding on to.

Then came the games.

Hot, cold. Push, pull.

Your words bent,

your silences heavier than stone.

I still answered when called.

My body betrayed me,

mistaking desire for love,

mistaking fire for safety.

But you were never salvation.

You were only the mirror

showing me the wounds

I’ve carried too long.