The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

The mind whispers,
a truth carved months ago,
But the heart—
stubborn, slow—
waits for the photograph,
for proof in ink and light,
for the ache to settle in its ribs.

It was real,
long before my eyes confirmed it,
But I only felt the break
When the silence turned heavy,
When my chest tightened,
When all I could do
I was listening to a song louder
Then the pain, I couldn’t unsee.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis