NEPHART.COM

She didn’t knock.

She walked in

and my heart forgot its own architecture.

No cracks.

No warning lines.

Just… collapse.

Not broken like glass,

broken like matter

splitting into things science hasn’t named yet.

Some pieces too small to grieve,

some vanished,

as if love learned a new way to escape

through air.

I keep asking myself

was it dynamite

or a time bomb?

But no.

It wasn’t a time bomb.

There was no ticking.

No countdown.

No final second where I could have chosen better.

It didn’t announce itself.

It arrived

already finished.

Dynamite was never on my mind.

I was obsessed with dynamic, not destruction.

With our small, beautiful arguments.

The kind that felt like proof we cared.

She could fight over starlight,

debate the sky itself,

while I stayed quiet,

watching the moon do what it does best

shine

without explanation.

Crying was never part of my plan.

But plans don’t survive impact.

Still,

I hope she comes back.

Hope is stubborn like that.

And no,

I didn’t bathe in milk.

I’m not pretending purity.

Maybe this wreckage

has my fingerprints on it.

I danced with my emotions

like I was leading a cult,

convinced passion alone

could hold things together.

I thought I was smart.

Thought love would tighten itself.

But I forgot the basics.

Forgot the quiet work.

Forgot to check the frame.

Forgot

to tighten

my nuts

and bolts.