The Door I Never Closed

I knew.

I just didn’t leave.

That’s the part I don’t like admitting.

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There wasn’t a moment

where everything suddenly broke,

no single word,

no final betrayal.

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Just a slow, quiet knowing

that settled in my chest

and never left.

‎

I am not naive.

But I stayed.

And that might be worse.

‎

I think

I believed love worked like gambling.

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That if I kept giving more,

and more,

eventually

something would hit.

‎

That one day

I would feel it shift,

like a machine finally lighting up,

like all the waiting

had been worth it.

‎

So I kept putting pieces of myself in.

‎

Another try.

Another chance.

‎

Watching closely

for any sign

that you were finally

going to choose me.

‎

But nothing ever came.

‎

No sudden change.

No moment of clarity.

No jackpot.

‎

Just silence,

and almosts,

and the realization

that I was the only one

still playing.

‎

I told myself

that meant I cared more.

That meant I loved deeper.

That if I held on

a little longer,

it would finally be enough.

‎

But love isn’t something

you can win.

‎

You can pour everything you have

into someone

and still walk away

empty.

‎

You didn’t keep me there.

The door was never locked.

‎ ‎

I just couldn’t stop hoping

that the next moment

would be different

than the last.

‎ ‎

So I stayed

and called it patience.

I stayed

and called it love.

‎

I stayed

long enough

to lose parts of myself

I didn’t notice were gone.

‎

Now I stand in the doorway

of everything I lost,

trying to understand

why I kept reaching

for something

that was never reaching back.

‎

And the hardest part is

knowing

no matter how much I gave,

I kept betting

like love could make you choose me.