I did not send the bill.
I did not circle the total at the bottom of what I gave.
There was no tax on tenderness,
no interest charged on patience,
no due date printed on the hours I spent thinking of you.
I loved you in full.
Even when you were partial.
Even when your silence echoed louder than your voice used to.
And when I left,
I didn’t slam the door.
I folded the note I never sent,
pressed it into the corner of my memory,
and walked out softly,
not because you deserved my softness,
but because I did.
Love from one to another
does not entitle the lover to the beloved.
That is a rule I learned slowly,
with shaking hands and a heart that refused to harden.
I gave.
You didn’t ask.
And still
I do not regret the giving.