June 2019

You didn’t fall in love—

you landed.

Hard.

Fast.

Loud.

Three days in,

you were talking about forever.

Texting good morning, good night,

I miss you already.

Calling me your answered prayer.

Telling me I was everything

you’d ever asked God for—

a prophecy, finally delivered.

You memorized my schedule.

My coffee order.

The names of my friends.

Said it was because you cared.

But it felt like surveillance

dressed as attention.

You made me the center

of your world—

until I realized

being the center

meant I couldn’t move.

The gifts came early.

Marriage came up

before our first fight.

You didn’t just want me.

You wanted everything—

now.

And I thought that was love.

I thought devotion

was supposed to feel

like gravity.

But real love

doesn’t throw you

into the deep end

before you’ve learned

how to breathe.

You said I made you feel safe.

Said no one had seen you

like I did.

But then you turned

that mirror around,

and I saw myself

becoming someone

afraid to pull away.

It wasn’t a spotlight.

It was a floodlight.

Relentless.

Blinding.

And warm—

until it burned.

Read the Next Poem: 

2018