When I left there was silence.
Not heavy —
just quiet.
She seemed almost
relieved.
And I stood in that too.
Let it mean what it meant.
But then it came.
Not immediately —
later,
as if it needed time
to find its shape.
The anger.
The accusations.
Everything she'd been carrying
suddenly aimed at me.
She had told me once
that when I wasn't there
it was just easier.
To dissolve.
To stop trying.
To let the night
be whatever the night wanted to be.
She said it like a confession.
Maybe it was.
My presence asked something of her —
not because I demanded it
but because she couldn't disappear
into herself
with someone watching
who loved her.
And I understood it.
I did.
It just didn't hurt any less.