No More Explaining
No More Explaining
I’m tired of explaining
how much I want you here,
tired of painting the picture
of us,
while you keep the brush idle.
I won’t wait at the door
for a knock that may never come,
or hold my breath
for a wish you won’t speak.
If you wanted me,
I’d already know.
If I was your choice,
I wouldn’t have to ask.
So I’m stepping back,
not because I love you less—
but because I’ve finally learned
to love myself more
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