Incongruence

Remember being young,

your parent pressing you

flat against a wall

to mark how tall you were?

That followed me.

Every time I think I’ve made it,

in some quiet way

I don’t measure up.

This month,

I saw a man

whose heart still longed for another.

He came in hot.

Adored me.

Made me feel safe.

Supported my endeavors.

But we were incongruent.

He loved simple living.

I love living large — wild and free.

I am simple

in what I require:

Consistency.

Provision.

Reassurance

when I spiral.

Physical closeness.

Not Bible verses.

Not promised reading rooms

never meant for me.

I spoke in love;

you replied in devotionals.

The second your hand stopped holding mine I knew;

I was a placeholder,

A marker

Not measured

Irreplaceable.

The incongruence is uncanny.

I will never fit

the hole in your heart

she left.

Still —

I thank God

I met you

and the time we shared.

As soon as you removed your hand from

Mine,

I understood I didn’t meet the minimum height

And you were never going to care

For me like you once did her.