The Back Door (He Was The Key)

I saw his patterns, every one,

The way he’d leave before he’d run,

The open doors, the restless eyes,

His loyalty laced up with lies,

The ghost of longing in his chest,

The ache that never came to rest.

He called it freedom, played it cool,

But every move obeyed old rule,

He’d speak of love, then disappear,

And call it balance, not his fear,

He said “I’m here” but not quite deep,

He needed space he couldn’t keep.

And I? I judged, I saw it clear,

He’s broken still, he won’t come near,

I drew the map, I named the game,

But never thought I did the same,

Until the day I turned around,

And saw my shadow on the ground.

I kept a door that faced the west,

The one he never could request,

I claimed I’d healed, I claimed I’d grown,

But still I kept a light left on,

Not for someone better, no,

But for the place I couldn’t go.

He held the key, he didn’t know,

The one that’s hidden far below,

I watched his pattern, cursed his flee,

While part of him still lived in me,

And that’s the wound that burns so true ,

You see in others what’s in you.

The mirror shattered, still it showed,

The quiet path we never rode,

To name the truth, to close the gate,

Not out of rage, but out of fate,

I love him still, but love me more,

The key no longer fits that door.

Cathrine Hottran 2025