Distant Love, Closer Chains.

They love me best from far away,

where their hands can’t reach,

where their words are soft echoes,

and their eyes do not burn through my skin.

Here, where breath meets breath,

they come not to stay, but to take.

At first, their hands are open, gentle—

palms full of promises, lips lined with light.

But time twists kindness into a grip,

soft fingers curl into chains,

whispers grow heavy with hunger,

and love becomes a locked door.

I am not a home, I am not a prize,

I am not something to own.

Yet, every time they come close,

they carve out a piece and call it theirs.

So I keep my distance,

where love remains untouched,

where I am whole—

even if I am alone.