You’d say I love you so
like it was a balm
for wounds you refused to dress.
But still—
still—I’d cling to it
like a kid clutching a wet match,
trying to start a fire
in the middle of a hurricane.

I remember the hush
after their words were flung.
Their jealous gazes fossilized
by your silence.
Their lies, calcifying
around the shape of me.

I was afraid you’d see
what they saw—
some selfish little leech,
siphoning your last bit of love.
Like I didn’t come
from that love.
Like I wasn’t
trying to protect your love.

You always told me
you loved me so.
Over and over.
Until the words felt thin,
like a curtain I could see through
but not reach past.

And now,
I can’t unhear the echoes.
Did they lie about me—
or just repeat
what they heard from you?

I don’t know what to think anymore.
But I know how it felt—
the tight coil in my stomach
whenever the phone rang,
the way I swallowed
my whole self
to make room for someone
you might love more.