I'll be your villain

I was the one who didn’t kneel. Even as a boy, I stood at the doorframe like a nail the hammer missed.

He roared like something ancient, but I learned the silence louder than he ever was.

They became small for survival. She disappeared into the wallpaper and lived there for years.

I was not brave. I simply refused to vanish. That was my sin.

At the wake, I wore the old mask, the one with the eyes carved soft. They needed the lost one returned. So I came back wearing a version of myself they could forgive.

I told the story the way they wanted it. His charisma, not his rage. His heart, not his unpredictability. I told it kindly, for their sake.

She needed a version of him she could grow old beside. So I left the truth in the coatroom with my grief.

Now they carry peace in shallow bowls. It is enough for them. I have made it so.

I live apart, a sort of exile. The one who did not forget. The one who could not heal

if healing meant pretending.

Still— I polish the lie like silver so they can eat off it. I will be your villain. I will keep the light dim so you can sleep.

This, too, is love.