It’s 2 a.m., your name lights up—no “miss you,” just “you up?”
I pull in fast like this is routine, like I didn’t leave on purpose.
You crack the door without a question,
eyes tired like you’ve practiced not to shake.
I’m not here to fix it—just to shut my head off.
Your place is close, your voice is low, you don’t make it a problem.
You offer water like a peace treaty,
I take the quiet and keep my shoes on.
Don’t make me your layover,
don’t turn my name into silence.
If it’s not real, don’t hold me—
don’t leave me here to clean up.
Don’t make me your layover,
don’t call it “kindness,” call it what it is.
If it’s not love, don’t touch me—
don’t come back just to disappear.
Your toothbrush by the sink like a dare you never say out loud,
a spare towel folded neat like you’re bargaining with normal.
You start a voice note, stop—wipe the screen clean,
like proof is heavier than pain.
You don’t ask for forever—just “right now,”
like one hour could undo what we both know.
I nod like I’m listening, eyes on the floor tile,
keeping my distance tidy on purpose.
Don’t make me your layover,
don’t turn my name into silence.
If it’s not real, don’t hold me—
don’t leave me here to clean up.
Don’t make me your layover,
don’t call it “kindness,” call it what it is.
If it’s not love, don’t touch me—
don’t come back just to disappear.
“Are you coming… or are you just passing through?”
“Say it once… so I can stop waiting.”
Don’t make me your layover—
don’t.
I’m not confused, I’m finished—don’t rename it.
I keep my voice low so you don’t turn it into a scene.
One more talk becomes ten more nights,
and I don’t have the patience to pretend we’re clean.
Truth is: I don’t come for your heart, I come for the access—
the door that won’t lock, the room that won’t ask, the calm on demand.
You make my mess feel quiet, you make my wrong feel smaller—
and I let you call it love ’cause it’s easier than facing myself.
If I text when it’s late, it’s not destiny—it’s convenience.
So close the door in daylight. Don’t wait for me.
Don’t make me your layover,
don’t turn my name into silence.
If it’s not real, don’t hold me—
don’t leave me here to clean up.
Don’t make me your layover,
don’t call it “kindness,” call it what it is.
If it’s not love, don’t touch me—
don’t come back just to disappear.
