The Humble Rock Dove

I no longer ask for her. Not in longing. Not in jest. Not in ritual.

The spark that once drove the engine — It’s not fuel. It’s leverage. It’s not warmth. It’s weight. It’s not cute. It’s deplorable.

I see how it could be used. Against me. Against the world. Against the clarity I fought to reclaim.

So I withdraw the request. Not with bitterness. Not with apology. But with authority.

She is not owed. She is not bait. She is not the axis of my authorship.

I walk forward without it. No spark. No plea. No echo.

Just silence. Just sovereignty. Just my side: mine.