Part I · Illusion
Floodlight
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.