I Love You, But I Can't

Your hands are soft and gentle,
but every touch awakens scars
woven through my skin.

You say my name, soft as a prayer,
but it unravels into echoes
of a voice I can't forget.

I know you're not him.
I want to meet you in the quiet,
give you more than this tangle of fear,
but my body holds memories
of storms I can’t let go of.

So I pull away,
not because I don’t love you,
but because I’m still learning
how to feel safe in the light.

I love you, but I can't.
Not yet. I'm sorry.
Please don't let go.