I exist for him
inside four walls.

Within them
my name sounds different in his mouth.
Softer.
Possessive in the quiet way he says
mine.

Here
his hands claim what the world never sees.
Here
my body remembers the shape of belonging.

In this small contained universe
he calls me his.

And for a moment
I almost believe it.

We talk when time allows.
In fragments.
In stolen spaces between the life he lives
and the one that only exists when the door is closed.

Because the door always opens.

And when it does
he steps back into his real life.

Lights on.
People waiting.
Conversations where my name
has never been spoken.

Outside those four walls
there is no evidence of me.

No place I fit.
No space I occupy.
No story where I am written in.

And still
I stay.

Not because I am trapped.
Not because I do not understand.

But because somewhere between his voice
and the way his hands find me
I chose this.

I chose the four walls.
I chose the quiet.
I chose the fragments he can give.

Because needing him
is a gravity of its own.

Inside
I am his.

Outside

I am the woman
who chose
to disappear.

© 2026 Wynter Rayne. All rights reserved.