The Partner I Painted

I said I knew him— like the sea knows the moon, drawn, pulled, dancing tides to his rhythm. I traced constellations in the freckles on his back, wrote sonnets on the way he stirred his coffee, knew his heartbeat like a song I was born with. I could name the sound his silence made, the way his right eye twitched when he lied, how he always looked left when he didn’t want to cry. I memorized his favorite shade of regret. And still loved him. I said I knew him— like the roots know rain, the thunder before the downpour. I forgave storms that shattered me because he smiled like sunlight and I was always cold. I built an altar from our laughter. Burnt my pride as sacrifice. Called him my home. My poem. My person. But— He was not mine. He was never real. Just a ghost I drew on a canvas of longing. A man made of metaphors and needs. I was the only one in the room. Talking. Loving. Remembering. He was a story I told myself just to feel less alone.