It’s not you.

It’s me.

It’s not about you.

It’s about me.

You share something tender.

Something that aches.

Hurt. Shame. Fear.

Disappointment. Uncertainty.

I can’t hold it.

I have to fill it.

With something.

Anything.

Other than the discomfort.

Not yours.

Mine.

I think

I want to be useful.

I feel useful

only if it’s comfortable.

For me.

It’s not about you

when

it’s about me.