My bruise lasted longer than you did
a small purple mark,
fading slow on my skin,
while you slipped away
as if love was something light,
something that could vanish overnight.
The ache beneath my ribs
lingers the way your touch doesn’t.
I press my fingers to the bruise,
wondering how pain
can be more faithful than you.
You left without a sound,
but this mark keeps whispering
what you didn’t stay to say.
My bruise lasted longer than you did
and maybe that’s all I need to know
about love,
about you,
about me.
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