Since day one the math pretended to love us.

You offered shelter like a statement of fact.

I offered nightmares like small print.

Our worlds overlapped the way mirrors do: 

Good vibes / bad signals.

You tuned to music. I tuned to alarms.

Too much static from my side, I know.

You kept standing there anyway, like proof of concept.

I handed you ecstasy in rationed pills.

Half-kindness, half-escape.

You didn’t let go. I started losing my edges,

the little knives I used to keep the world arranged.

You kept reaching. I kept misplacing the map.

You sang love like a floor plan.

I stared until the lights went white and called it devotion.

That’s how a blindfold learns your name.

Then your life began rewinding, bright pieces unclicking.

Blame fits me; it wears my shape.

But I won’t walk back into the room that forgave me.

I gave you too much acid and called it rain.

You won’t stand with me again

in the equal world we faked so carefully.

You found someone who speaks daylight without flinching.

I only speak in warning labels.

Watching you happy is the cleanest thing I know.

It doesn’t need me. That helps.

Don’t look over here anymore. I’m praying, not waving,

for your mornings to stay unburned.

Let me keep this small, echoing place.

No guests. No tours.

I can’t keep introducing good people

to the country where my weather never clears