I stopped holding the questions in,
and I asked at last:
why the love he gave
was taken back without a word.
He said it was mood wings,
that it was best for me.
A silly excuse,
a silly thought —
choosing for me
with the same mind
that claimed to love me.
It made me wonder
how heavy it must have been for him,
yet I resented him all the same,
for silence is a wound
that never explains itself.