the last one

---

you came like a quiet season,

not to stay,

but to rewrite.

there were places on me

that still whispered the devils name—

not out of longing,

but from the ache

of being seen

and not valued.

I had tried to scrub him from my skin,

tried to untangle my worth

from the memory of being touched

by someone

who only ever reached for me

to quiet his own ghosts.

but then you came,

and with every soft hand,

every pause,

every gentle yes,

you pressed sunlight

into the hollow places.

you kissed over the ruins,

as if to say,

"this isn‘t where it ends,

this isn‘t what you are".

and for a moment,

I believed you.

you didn’t get to stay—

because I chose to walk.

not because you were cruel.

not because I wasn’t moved.

but because softness alone

cannot hold a future.

you are my last one now.

and maybe that‘s all you needed to be.

not a forever.

but a finally.

— Lux