The therapist places a paper
Between us
Not a test
Not really
But it feels like one
A Couples Quiz
They say
As if naming it
Makes it harmless
As if questions
Can’t cut
The page glows faintly
Ink shifting
Like something alive
Each question feels
Less like a prompt
And more like a mirror
I’m afraid to look into
What do you fear losing?
The words pulse
A heartbeat I recognize
Too well
What do you cling to?
A shadow stirs
Behind my ribs
What do you love
That terrifies you?
The room tilts
Not violently
But enough
To remind me
That truth has teeth
The therapist waits
Hands folded
As if they know
This quiz isn’t about
Compatibility
Or romance
Or scorekeeping
It’s about the two halves of me
That have been circling each other
For years
The one who wants to stay
And the one who wants to run
I pick up the pen
It feels heavier
Than it should
Like a key
Or a weapon
Or a promise
I write slowly
Carefully
As if each answer
Is a spell
That might summon
Something I can’t put back
And when I finish
I feel it
A tremor
A shift
A quiet vow
Rising in the space
Between who I was
And who I’m becoming
This quiz wasn’t for couples
It was for the parts of me
That finally agreed
To meet