spaces he'll never know

I made space for him in places he never knew existed in my prayers, in the pauses between worship songs, in the hollow of my midnight sighs. I memorized him like scripture, each chapter read under my breath, until his laughter sounded like a psalm, but my name… was never written in his book. I coloured every moment with my heartbeat— a tender artist painting joy where he saw nothing. But somehow, he turned colour blind and called it grey. I watched him chase reflections in someone else’s eyes— the very look I used to rehearse in the mirror, hoping he’d see me. I held my love like glass— careful, trembling, sacred. But he never asked to hold it, only to admire the shine, then walked away. And here I am, still full of all the things he never asked for. Still crying in languages he never learned to speak. Still… loving in silence.