There's something about the way he looks at me lately.
It's not love.
It's not a fight.
It's not your fault.
It's... search.
As if he was waiting for me to look back at him to breathe.
As if my reaction was his rod to know who he is.
But I'm not that compass anymore.
I'm not that mirror.
I'm not that place where he came to confirm his existence.
I am sorry.
I feel his gaze stuck to my back when I walk around the house.
I feel his discomfort when he passes by.
I feel that kind of weird nostalgia that he tries to hide, but it shows in his eyes.
Before, that kind of energy moved me whole.
It made me want to understand it, hold it, translate it.
Not now.
Now I feel that look as if it came from a past that no longer belongs to me.
A past that hurt me so much that I learned to walk forward without turning my head.
I see him trying something similar to kindness.
Small gestures.
Clumsy attempts at approach.
Unnecessary comments, questions that he will not listen to, jokes that he throws waiting for me to grab them on the fly.
But I'm not coming back.
It's not revenge.
It's not revenge.
It's peace.
The peace of no longer depending on how he breathes.
The peace of not adjusting my energy to accommodate it.
The peace of not having to read your silences as if they were my responsibility.
And he notices it.
Every day a little more