Pride

I once believed
you were not like other men —
not above,
but beyond.

Naive and young
as I once was,
I mistook silence
for depth,
control
for calm.

And I was proud.
Proud to know you.
Proud of the man
you were
to me.

Seven years on —
your silence
says less
than I once believed.

It wasn’t the fall
that hurt the most —
but your refusal
to see the ground.

To admit
what you’d taken.
To name the cost
only I carried.

It is not
my pride
that is wounded.

It is
my pride
in you.