Quiet Romance

You only love me in pieces,

in hours you don’t have to explain.

I keep hoping your silence is temporary,

that one day you’ll call me by my real name.

I imagine your mother asking about me,

but you’d just laugh,

change the subject.

I’m not the kind of girl you bring home —

I’m the one you keep forgetting to forget.

Still, I wait for you,

like a song stuck in someone else’s throat.

And every time you don’t choose me,

I fold myself smaller,

thinking maybe next time you will.

I replay every almost —

your hand brushing mine in the dark,

your voice soft as if it meant something.

I build a church out of scraps,

and kneel to a god who never shows up.

The truth is quiet,

but it echoes:

I was never yours to begin with.

And somehow,

knowing still hurts.