Trough The Straw

“Through the Straw”

She sips in silence, eyes fixed on somewhere I can't reach— a tangle of whispers dancing behind her gaze, ghosts I cannot fight.

The straw meets her lips like a needle to vein, drawing the essence of me, slowly, deliberately, a thousand tiny surrenders with every breath she takes in doubt.

I see it— how my past plays tricks on her present, how shadows of who I was stand taller than the man I strive to be. She drinks not out of malice, but mistrust curled like vines around her heart.

And yet— have I not built bridges from my blood? Offered proof in quiet devotion, in nights I stayed, in mornings I rose with her name on my tongue?

But love feels hollow when weighed against suspicion. A trial with no end, a punishment that outlasts the crime.

I do not beg to be forgotten— only forgiven. Let the voices hush. Let the past retreat like a tide.

Because she means everything. Even as she drinks, I would refill the glass if only to see her whole again. If only she’d see me not as I was, but as I am now— raw, reaching, real.