You built walls around me,

stone by stone,

stacking your fears higher

than I could see.

You said it was for my sake,

to keep me safe.

But I never asked for walls.

I watched you fight battles

that weren’t mine,

swinging at ghosts

I couldn’t see,

while your shadow loomed over me,

blocking the light.

You called it love,

but it felt like a cage.

Every door you closed

was another breath I couldn’t take.

Every "protection"

was another piece of the world

you took away.

You weren’t keeping me safe—

you were keeping yourself

from breaking.

Holding me close

to stop the ache of losing.

Building walls

so you’d never have to watch me fall.

But now I see the truth:

this isn’t love.

It’s fear wearing its skin.

I don’t want your walls,

your battles,

your trembling grip.

I need the open sky.

I need to learn how to stand in the wind

and fall with the rain.

Let me go.

Not because I don’t love you,

but because love cannot breathe

when it’s held too tight.