Though I can wrap my mind around it,
trace the shape of what you run from,
name your wounds before you do,
untangle your habits like thread—

Your weight…
You—
don’t need my palms to live.

Love was once built on burden.
On memory.
On carrying ghosts
as if they were gifts—
revering heaviness as holy.

But I’ve learned
to sit at the edge of an ache,
to feel it hum beside me
without reaching in—
to feel the weight
without wearing it.

I’ll let the ache stay yours.
If my silence echoes,
know it’s not for lack of feeling—
only shape.

I will not bleed
to prove I see you.

I gave you  
half-full cups—  
to you, overflowing.  

I gave you  
measured warmth.  
Wrapped it in pretty,  
promised it was real.  

I called you  
gentle  
so I could become it.  

You brought me morning,  
the good kind,
and time I didn't earn.

You gave me home,
a stillness,
and hands that didn't ask.

I brought you mirrors.  
You stayed.  
I flinched.  

I don’t wish to hurt you.  
Only to leave gently,  
and that is still  
a kind of cruelty—  
to be kind.  

Even now,  
I measure sweetness  
in what we almost were.  

And still—  

My love,
I love
you, love,
not enough.

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I can’t answer now...
or later.

I couldn’t even have then.

I just forget your voice
sometimes.

In glimmering,
lingering,
longing
glances,

I seem to
revisit how we met.

This is our season, remember?

This was our season,
remember.

Pull me through the winds,
Strip the velvet clean.
Tie me to the evening
Where you know the sun won’t lean.

Hollowed out my seasons,
Left the orchard bare.
Begging, “Love me like the shadows
Fading in the air.”

Pressed me to the heather,
Root my tongue to stone,
Watch the river splinter,
Pull apart the bone.

You stitched my name to thunder,
Even wrote it in the blue.
Shielding all and every echo
Until there’s only you.

Whatever you are,
I must be too.

I wonder,
wander,
falter.

Back — forth.

Now I’m
backed in the corner.
Silence is comfortable
to move in.

For the fourth time?

Back — forth.

Running,
cowering,
to cover my back.

But love seems to burst
forth from my gut.

Back — forth.

Singing,
humming—
it’s quiet.

But it’s sweet,
and now you’re back.

And I can’t seem
to bring the strength forth.

Back — forth.