The Thread

He never raised his voice, 

only his eyebrow. 

That was enough 

to make her fold.  

He loved her 

between storms

hands soft one day, 

silence sharp the next.  

She learned to read 

his moods like scripture, 

to pray for the days 

he smiled at her name.  

When he broke her, 

he was always sorry. 

When he fixed her, 

she thanked him for staying.  

Her laughter faded 

into the sound of his footsteps. 

Her dreams grew small enough 

to fit inside his shadow.  

But one day, 

the mirror spoke truth, 

a stranger stared back, 

tied by a trembling thread.  

It wasn’t love 

that held her there, 

but fear

gentle, familiar, and deadly quiet. 

When she finally 

let go of the thread, 

it didn’t snap

It dissolved.  

And the silence that followed 

was the first sound of her freedom.