I’ve been silent for months,
not out of spite, but survival.
You call it distance,
I call it protecting what’s left of me.
You promised to call me back,
I knew you wouldn’t, of course.
I took that breath like a last straw,
let the moment stretch until it hurt less,
scared of hearing what I already knew.
Procrastinating, babe…
I didn’t ghost you,
I just got tired of being the only one honest.
But now you want to act clueless,
“Who’s this?”
Stop.
Don’t play dumb like your innocence
is prettier than your truth.
Don’t blind me with beauty
and soft-spoken intellect
when your actions scream louder
than your voice ever could.
You really think I’m foolish?
No.
Just tired.
And if we’re choosing violence,
being ruthless,
then congratulations, you win.
Because I won’t do it.
We should be romancing,
somewhere in Jamaica,
the sea kissing sand,
your body pressed to mine.
We should be making love in Lagos,
waking the neighbors
with laughter and tangled sheets.
We should be building something,
not breaking it with secrets.
But word travels…
and apparently you’re still messing with your ex.
I’m not vexed,
just curious how you juggle stories
and forget which lie you set down where.
So don’t ask me how I know, darling,
your patterns talk louder than your lips.
At least you ain’t alone in the confusion.
Maybe it’s better,
better you sit with yourself,
better you hear your own echoes.
When you’re done thinking with your head
instead of your heart,
I hope the truth hits your chest hard,
reminding you you’re not bulletproof.
And even then,
even shattered,
I’ll still be the one
capable of bringing your heartbeat back…
just not sure
you’ll deserve it
when you finally realize
what you lost.
