The Last Turning

The Last Turning

I cannot stand here forever,

with my feet buried in dust,

watching his back as if it will turn,

watching her hand as if it will loosen.

The earth itself is tired of me—

rooted in waiting,

aching in silence.

The sky does not split open with answers.

No sign will come.

Only my own breaking heart

echoing louder each day.

To stay is to unravel slowly,

thread by thread,

until nothing remains.

To go is to cut myself open,

bleed once,

bleed hard,

but bleed free.

I do not know which pain is mercy,

which is ruin.

I only know this:

if I linger too long,

I will lose not only him,

but myself.

And maybe the cruelest love of all

is the love I must give

to the girl in the mirror—

the one who deserves more

than waiting at a crossroads

that was never hers to choose.