Where Love Heals

It started like spring—
quiet, unsuspecting,
the kind that slips in before you notice the air has changed.

I didn’t plan for you.

You were just there—
laughter, light,
something soft enough to make me forget
how long I’d been holding my breath.

And I chose you.

Not out of loneliness—
but because, for once,
being close to someone
didn’t feel like something to survive.

It felt safe.

You warned me—
said we were temporary,
like a season not meant to stay.

But hearts don’t listen.

Mine bloomed anyway.

Somewhere between your presence
and your absence,
I became something in between—
not in love,
but not untouched.

You were summer for a moment—
warm, consuming—
and then you became weather.

Unpredictable.
Gone.
Then back again
like I had been waiting all along.

And I kept asking—
why can’t you keep me?
Why am I something you visit,
not something you choose?

Today, I saw you again.

And for a second,
you looked at me the same—
tender, real—
and I almost forgot everything.

Almost.

Because this time, I saw it clearly:

You are not choosing me.

And it isn’t because I’m not enough—
it’s because you don’t want to.

And suddenly, the ache softened.
Less like a storm,
more like something letting go.

I realized—
I’ve been asking you to choose me
while I haven’t been choosing myself.

So I will.

I will choose the girl who opened her heart.
The softness I once mistook for weakness.
The strength it took to feel at all.

I will stop waiting
to be kept by someone
who only knows how to leave.

And yes—
I will miss you.

But missing something
is not the same as needing it back.

Maybe in another life,
we meet in the right season.

But in this one—
I am no longer waiting.

I am already in bloom.

JMS