I loved you
the way the earth loves rain—
open, patient,
never counting how much it gave.
But some clouds pass
without breaking.
Some skies hold everything back.
So I learned
how fields do it—
how they rest
when nothing comes,
how they do not beg the season
to change.
I did not leave in a storm.
I left like dusk—
slow, certain,
with the light still warm
on my back.
What I carried with me
was not loss,
but knowing:
even the soil
must sometimes lie fallow
to remain alive.
And one day,
something will grow
without being asked.
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