I keep my boundaries sharp
clean lines
rules written in ink
because I know my role.

I remind myself
again and again
I am a body, not a promise
a place to empty want
not a place to land.

A vessel.
Useful.
Temporary.

It would be easier
if it stayed that simple.

But sometimes there are pauses
words that almost reach
sentences that lean toward meaning
before turning back into hunger.

Half statements.
Redirected touches.
Silence where clarity should live.

I try not to fill the gaps
but my mind does it anyway
building stories out of echoes
mistaking proximity for care.

I only know what he tells me
and sometimes
what he does not say
hurts more than what he does.

Clarity would be mercy.
It would quiet the spiral
give the rational part of me
something solid to stand on.

Instead I hover
between knowing and wanting
between the truth I repeat
and the hope I keep burying.

I tighten my boundaries
not because I do not feel
but because I feel too much
and confusion makes me forget
where I end
and where the fantasy begins.

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© 2026 Wynter Rayne. All rights reserved.