The Night You Broke Me Down
The night you broke me down
was another calm, warm night.
Outside my room, there was silence—
the sound of a gecko, and the soft breeze rocking the trees back and forth.
After you took me in your arms,
gave me a soft, deep kiss,
and whispered in my ear
how much you wanted me,
how deeply I had settled
into your mind and soul,
you took me to the edge of Oblivion
and let me melt into the stars.
After coming down
and cleaning the aftermath from our bodies,
you took me to another dimension,
a place I never knew existed.
A simple gesture—
something so innocent, so pure,
I dare to say.
You untangled my curls,
the curls you first noticed when we met,
the ones you longed to wrap around your fist,
the curls you played with to fall asleep.
And at that moment,
my heart twisted, and my mind betrayed me.
It conjured scenarios I had never dared imagine until that night—
visions of you taking care of me,
of us being one,
of a life without worry.
Because how could I feel unsafe,
if this man, with such unselfish tenderness,
was untangling my hair?
I had to hold back tears.
I was too afraid my feelings would scare you.
Showing my vulnerability felt too dangerous—
as if it could give you a reason to walk out.
Now, after many moons have passed,
the rain is the only thing I hear,
and there’s someone new
on the other end of your affection.
I wish I had cried that night.
I wish I had shown you my tears.
Because I wasn’t ashamed of them.
My vulnerability was proof
that I could love you.
And yes, at that moment, in that room,
I was afraid you’d walk out,
just as you did.
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