She ran every Tuesday night.
Same route.
Same time.
Same stupid confidence
that she’d make it home.
I waited where the streetlights ended.
I thought I would be nervous.
I wasn’t.
All I could think about
was every time she made you cry.
Every night she got to sleep beside you
while I went home alone.
Every morning she woke up
with the life I wanted.
So when I heard her footsteps coming,
I didn’t think about prison.
I didn’t think about God.
I didn’t even think about her.
I thought about you.
And when it was over,
when she was on the ground
and there was no taking any of it back,
I whispered your name.
Because somehow
that made it feel less of a loss.
