You said all the right things.

You touched me

like I wasn’t broken.

You looked at me

like I was more than the story written on my skin.

So I let you in.

Not just inside me—

but into me.

Into the locked room,

the one with the lights off

and the furniture rearranged by memory.

And for a while—

you stayed.

But now?

You’re pulling away.

Not loud.