just a guy 

i used to hate men—
not out of bitterness,
but from pattern recognition.
they moved the same,
spoke the same,
touched hearts with hands
that never meant to stay.

predictable,
like rain on a funeral,
like apologies after damage,
like silence when it matters most.

but then—
you.

you arrived
not like a storm,
but like the eye of one.
stillness.
strange peace.
a softness i didn’t know could live
in a voice like yours.

you felt like exception.
like maybe not all of them were the same.
i watched you closely,
waiting for the mask to slip,
but it stayed.
and i wondered,
how can a guy be like that?

you smiled,
and the garden i buried bloomed again.
you didn't water me—
you unearthed me.
you removed the thorn
from my heart of roses,
and for a while,
i bled hope.

i told myself,
this one’s different.
this one’s light.
i saw stars in your eyes
and didn’t stop to ask
if they were burning out.

but then,
as if the universe tired of pretending,
you became exactly
what i swore you weren’t.

just a guy.

a guy with hands
that held too many promises
they forgot to keep.
a guy with words
that echoed others i tried to forget.
a guy who made me remember
why i built walls in the first place.

and that’s the thing—
i didn’t fall for a man.
i fell for the absence of what i feared.
i fell for the silence between red flags.
i fell for the idea
that someone could be different
and stay that way.

but eventually,
light reveals
or blinds.
and you—
you weren’t light.
you were just the illusion of it
in a room that was too dark.

so here i am,
not angry.
not even surprised.
just quietly grieving
the moment i mistook
a flicker
for a sunrise.