The Fire You Never Saw

You loved a writer—

how could you ever believe you'd leave unmarked?

Every accusation, every blade of a word

drove me deeper into silence,

while the walls and the night sky

stood as my only witnesses.

You said I wasn’t enough,

that I didn’t try hard enough—

but if only you had seen

the tempests raging through

the hollow corridors of my mind.

I knew I wasn’t the kind

to set your heart ablaze at first glance.

My edges never glittered,

but I stayed, foolishly believing

my depths might one day anchor you.

You sat astride your high horse,

surveying the fragile kingdom

of your own making,

while I drowned quietly in the ruins

of mine.

How effortlessly you brushed off my sorrows,

like ash clinging to your sleeve.

How swiftly you branded my struggles

as burdens you never asked to bear.

Each night, I stitched together dreams of us,

while you built a future

that had no room for my name.

History may call me naive,

but only hearts that burn this deep

ever feel love’s true flame keep.

Still, I do not curse you.

May your days stretch golden,

and your nights be gentle.

May the fire in your eyes

finally learn to burn inward—

for I loved you with a flame

that devoured my soul,

and you never even saw the fire.