Bruised

The night bent in half,

and I folded with it.

His voice

a rusted hinge,

swung open and slammed shut,

each syllable a shard

spinning toward my chest.

I had offered him the mirror,

held it steady with both hands,

but he saw only the fracture

and blamed me for the break.

Somewhere beneath the noise,

my pulse slowed,

as if my body already knew

what my mind refused to accept…

that love can turn

to a bruise

without warning.