a question in the dark

if you love me,
why do you still stand among the shadows
of those who tear at the fabric of my soul?
why do you let their words
linger like poison in the air,
knowing they burn me from within?
you say you love me,
but your silence
speaks louder than your promises.

if you love me,
why does your touch feel like a chain,
heavy with the weight of unspoken truths?
why does love,
which should be a warm embrace,
feel like an endless trial?
a test of endurance
rather than tenderness?
each gesture feels like a question
i cannot answer.

you hold my heart in your hands,
but do you even know its pulse?
do you hear the silent cries it makes—
the way it trembles
when you stay in places that hurt me?
i thought love would be refuge,
a place where we could heal,
but instead, it feels like a battlefield,
where every word,
every action,
is a wound i can’t stitch up alone.

if you love me,
why do you pull away when i need you most?
why do you keep running back to the ones
who’ve left scars on my spirit?
it’s as if you can’t see
how much it fractures me
to watch you choose their comfort
over my peace.

and still,
i stand here,
with a heart that is both broken and whole,
wondering if love can be both salvation
and a slow, unyielding unraveling.

so i ask again,
if you love me,
why does love feel like a lie?
why does it hurt
more than i ever thought possible?
and why, in this silence between us,
do i feel more alone than ever?
maybe the hardest question of all is this:
do you love me,
or the idea of love that fits in the spaces
you’ve yet to fill?

the answers remain locked in the spaces between us,
where love is meant to breathe,
but now, it suffocates.