the bridge, the path 

did i burn a bridge,
or did i clear a path?
the smoke rises either way—
but not all fire is destruction.
some flames guide,
some flames purify.

what we had was familiar—
a rhythm i could dance to in my sleep.
you moved like a clock,
tick by tick, predictable.
and so did what we had—
each moment echoing the last
until i forgot what silence sounded like.

you came back,
again and again,
as if i were a forgotten jacket
left in the same spot,
gathering dust,
still expected to warm you
when the cold returned.

you made me a fool
more times than memory can count.
but my silence was loyal,
even when you weren’t.
i watched you walk roads
i begged you not to take.
i knew where they led—
i've mapped your patterns
like stars i no longer wish to name.

didn’t i tell you?
i knew you too well.
i read you like scripture
in a language i had long outgrown.

but maybe that was the problem.
maybe i was too full of you.
so full, i left no room for myself.
and what spills too much—
drowns.

the match was always there,
hidden in the shadows
of my restraint.
until one day,
it whispered:
“let it burn.”

so i did.
the bridge between us—
the tether, the ache,
the place where i waited
and you wandered.

and when it fell,
i didn’t just burn a bridge.
i cleared a path.

a path through ash and clarity,
through the wilderness of rediscovery.
it led me to people who pour,
not drain.
to voices that ask, “are you okay?”
and stay for the answer.

i was sick—
sick of the empathy i bled for you.
it dried me out,
left me hollow,
and you never noticed the dust.

but i am not who you left.
i am the echo of survival.
i am the silence after goodbye
that finally sounds like peace.

and maybe you’ll call it loss,
but i’ll call it becoming.