Not one tear in your absence this time.
No fear.
No uncertainty.
No glance cast back, no ache to reminisce.
If memory still breathes through walls,
and love, if it ever was,
was truly innate—
then why
does silence suit me now like skin?
I thought it’d be forever.
But fortunately,
I was wrong.
This isn’t like the other times—
no sitting, no spiraling,
no carving your name into my hours.
No searching skies for subtle signs,
no daydreams turned to wilted flowers.
No voice replayed like sacred verse,
no hope rehearsed.
No curse reversed.
Love is not love which alters when it finds
a crack, a scar, a shifting mind.
You see the flaws, yet still you stay—
that’s what he meant,
or so they say.
Not blind, but bound—
not lost, but found
within the mess, the ache, the sound.
But this was not that kind of thread—
it frayed too fast.
It bled.
It fled.
I’m just another bird.
Not a raven.
Not a dove.
Just take a look above:
Nobody needs to fall
(in love).
I just need to fly
(get high)
I didn’t wait.
I didn’t wait for the call,
didn’t wait for the shift,
didn’t wait for the love to change shape or drift.
Didn’t hold my breath.
Didn’t plead.
Didn’t bleed on the floor
where you used to leave your grief.
I didn’t ask.
I didn’t beg.
Didn’t fall apart at your feet again.
I didn’t reach.
Didn’t write.
Didn’t check if you made it home last night.
I didn’t hope.
Didn’t pray.
Didn’t search for the words you never say.
I didn’t wait.
I didn’t stay.
I didn’t give my power away.
Because it only holds weight if I let it.
Only cuts deep if I set it.
Only repeats if I regret it.
And I don’t.
Not this time.
I’m just another bird
with nowhere to land,
no outstretched hand,
no open cage,
no promised plan.
Not a symbol,
not a sign,
not yours,
not mine.
I fly because I must,
not because I trust.
I rise
because falling
never loved me back.
They watched my feathers darken,
called it damage,
called it lack—
but wings don’t break
just ‘cause they don’t flap
the way you want them to.
I don’t coo.
I don’t mourn.
I don’t sing at every storm.
I vanish.
I adapt.
I circle the sky like a closing trap.
I’m not a metaphor for grace.
Not a symbol of peace.
I’m the bird that left
when the leash was released.
No hunger for breadcrumbs.
No thirst for the chase.
No cage could contain me,
no lover could trace
the route I’ve flown
to be alone
and finally
weightless.
I’m just another bird.
Not a raven.
Not a dove.
Just take a look above:
Nobody needs to fall
(in love).
I just need to fly
(get high).