She Stopped

She stopped waiting for the door to open,

for footsteps to mean something more than movement.

At first, she didn’t call it freedom

it was just silence that didn’t ache as much.

**********************

She stopped checking the clock

when he stayed away too long,

when the hours folded in on themselves

and her voice dissolved before reaching him.

**********************

Now, she lets the night arrive

without apology.

She makes tea,

turns on a soft lamp,

sits in the calm that used to scare her.

**********************

She remembers begging once,

for time, for talk,

for the smallest inch of wanting.

But something inside her broke

and then built itself differently.

It stopped expecting.

It started existing.

**********************

She no longer waits for laughter to come from him.

She learns the rhythm of her own amusement,

how it spills out unexpectedly

over a video, a thought,

the absurdity of still caring once.

**********************

She stopped asking him

to meet her in the place of conversation.

She built her own language instead

one that doesn’t need answering,

one that hums softly to itself.

**********************

There is still the ache, sometimes.

When she sees two people

leaning close on a park bench,

or a movie where someone listens

without needing to fix.

She feels it like an old bruise

present, but not defining.

**********************

She no longer depends on his comfort,

his warmth, his gaze,

or his idea of love.

She has seen how loneliness

can be kinder than neglect.

**********************

And though she would have chosen different

the laughter shared,

the easy shoulder

she knows now:

peace is not always a shared room.

**********************

She has released him

from the duty of her happiness,

and released herself

from the ache of waiting to be chosen.

**********************

She walks lighter these days.

Not joyful all the time,

but clear.

She can breathe again.

**********************

When he finally looks up,

when he offers what once mattered

she smiles,

and it feels strange,

like trying to wear someone else’s coat.

**********************

She sits back down.

Her tea has gone cold.

But her heart,

for once,

is warm enough.