You said you loved me.
In the beginning, I believed you.
Your eyes were a shelter,
your touch, my refuge.
But now…
there's a storm in your silence,
thunder in your hand.
Do you love me?
I don’t know anymore.
Because if this is love…
why does it hurt so much?
I hear the door slam,
feel the ground slip beneath me.
I stay quiet — maybe today
you won’t be so cruel.
I’ve learned to measure words,
to hide my tears,
to smile so I won’t awaken
the rage that comes uninvited.
Do you love me?
Or do you love the idea of owning me?
Because love doesn’t shout.
Love doesn’t wound.
Love doesn’t turn a home
into a place where fear lives.
And still…
I stay.
Out of shame, out of hope,
out of not knowing where to go.
But today, just for today,
I looked in the mirror
and saw someone
who deserves more.
Maybe tomorrow,
when you ask me “do you love me?”,
I’ll have the strength to say:
“I love myself. And that’s why I’m leaving.”
YOU ARE READING
illusions
Poetry"This is where I write down my thoughts and ideas about various topics that pique people's curiosity."
