I know my worth.
I’ve walked away from hands
that held me like something temporary.
I’ve closed doors on people
who measured me beneath the weight
of what I would’ve given them.
I demanded equal care,
equal effort,
equal love.
Yet with you,
every boundary folds like paper in rain.
Standards I carved from scars
become smoke the moment you speak.
I ignore the imbalance,
dress neglect in excuses,
call distance “complicated”
instead of what it is.
I push away those
who would’ve come close,
only to leave space beside me
reserved for you alone.
A throne built from isolation.
A kingdom with one ruler
and one prisoner.
I tell myself I could leave.
That the lock was never real.
But you walked away with the key,
and somehow the door still answers to your hands.
You open it when loneliness aches.
Step inside when silence becomes unbearable.
You hold me close enough
to remember what warmth feels like,
then leave before morning
with the same ease
someone shuts off a light.
And every time the door slams shut again,
I remain inside,
surrounded by the echoes
of a love that only visits
when it needs somewhere to stay.