Don’t call

DON’T CALL

I used to stay.

That’s the part I can’t rewrite.

Stayed like waiting was my home address.

Stayed like your silence didn’t sound like a no.

Now you say

you need closure

like that word ever held meaning in your mouth.

Like you didn’t watch me wait

and call

and pray

and fold.

And I did

I folded so neatly

you could’ve mistaken me for peace.

I’m not there anymore.

The space you used to waste

has grown teeth.

It chews up whatever part of me still listens.

There’s nothing soft left.

You used to breathe easy

knowing I’d never leave.

Now I sleep fine

knowing you didn’t ask me to stay.

You didn’t fake it.

Not once.

Didn’t flinch when I cracked open.

Just blinked

and called it love.

And that’s okay.

Because the love I gave you

wasn’t meant to survive you.

Now I move different.

Now I speak less.

Now I light candles and don’t blow them out.

Now I don’t pick up

when ghosts call.

Hook

Don’t call.

I won’t answer.

Don’t care if your dreams fall backwards.

Don’t want more.

I’m not your pastor.

Not your penance.

Not your ever after.

It wasn’t sudden.

It was slow.

A thousand tiny leave me alones.

A thousand times you chose the silence

over the sound of me breaking.

So if you’re calling,

call for God.

Call for light.

Call for the you that lost me.

But don’t call me.

I won’t answer.