The First Time Was an Ending

It wasn’t the candles or the song, just the hush before a storm— the moment I forgot how to breathe, and thought that meant love. Skin learned skin too soon, hearts whispered things they didn’t mean. After, the room was too bright, his eyes too kind to hold my ache. Sheets carried the shape of someone I didn’t know how to be. I watched a piece of myself walk away, quietly, without apology. It was supposed to feel like opening, like sunlight after rain— but I only felt the weight of the door closing softly behind me. Now I trace that evening like a scar that never quite fades, wondering if innocence is a thing we ever really give, or if it’s only taken by time.