not who you think.

and you come in with your heavy step, and you think that i don't know the one.

the thing that you're known for, steps that make our wood floors tremble under misconceived strength.

you think i don't know when it's you that opens that squeaking screen door?

i know that tremor like my own breath, and i can hear your motor idling near the curb.

and it's the time for me to repeat to myself, "it's not my fault."

i put my head in my hands and grab at chunks of my matted hair. i take a deep breath because i can feel you coming.

and that thing you're known for, it's not knowing what you do to me when you come back here. i won't tell.

by the time i hear that heavy step, i'll be smiling and over it.