We hold puzzle piece shards of the same broken story.

Mine just happen to be a little sharper… a little more true.

It wasn’t some sort of mutual rupture.

It was me tiring of cutting my teeth on diamond lies.

It was me prying out the acidic shrapnel your love left embedded in me.

It was me realizing my worth, thanks to him.

He’s proving that every raised hand doesn’t turn into a fist.

That our vocal chords are better used for singing rather than screaming.

That fear is not an emotional default.

That I don’t need to apologize for simply existing.

That love should never taste like blood and empty apologies.

I no longer flinch anytime someone tries to hold me, yet, still do when he moves just a little too fast.