I was halfway rebuilt
when you came asking questions —
not to stay,
but to satisfy your doubt.
You didn’t want truth.
You wanted relief from guilt,
a softer story
you could sleep beside.
I would’ve taken you in,
bloodied hands and all.
I waited in the ashes
with the lantern still lit.
But you needed a path without fire.
You needed peace without repentance.
You needed a man
who wouldn’t remind you of the baby we lost.
And I wasn’t him anymore.
I was becoming more.
Until I wasn’t.
I died quietly, my dear
Not by blade,
but by the absence of yours.
By the echo of your silence
where a voice once promised “forever.”
You won’t find me again.
Not in Norman.
Not in heaven.
Not in the version of yourself
you keep refusing to become.