When Love Flips the Switch
July 6, 2025
July 6, 2025
I learned terror in the curve of your lips,
the way your warmth became a switchblade,
glinting in the half-light of our good mornings.
You held me like sunlight—
steady pulse in my veins—
then snapped like winter glass,
shattering every trust I built.
Now my heart rehearses the betrayal
in the quiet between breaths,
hypervigilant for the flicker
of kindness gone cold.
I wake with my pulse still echoing
that moment you turned,
as if love itself can flip a switch
and leave me stranded in darkness.
My hands tremble at every caress,
searching for the trigger
that could snap me back to fear,
rewrite safety as fiction.
I carry PTSD in my spine,
tremors in my laughter,
an echo of your leaving
haunting even my dreams.
And still I learn to unbend,
to trust a dawn undimmed,
to believe that warmth can stay
even when the switch remains untouched.