I’ve seen it tarnished—
corruptive, bitter, spiteful.
Yet, at the end of the day, it’s still it.

People confuse what it is,
what it could be.
But it is something
that cannot be taken,
for it is always a part of you.
It is yours to give, never to take.

Every person has a person—
a “you for I”
and an “I for you.”
So why am I afraid
to find the one who could
truly be my rib?

Is it the weight of vulnerability,
the fear of being seen
in all my unguarded truth?
It’s tender, yet it scars,
a gentle hand that sometimes slips
and cuts too deep.

Still, it calls to me—
a soft, relentless echo
in the chambers of my heart.
Do I run toward it or away?
I yearning for it, yet I falter,
afraid to grasp what I might lose.

But isn’t love always risk,
always a gamble with the soul?
Perhaps, in facing it,
I’ll find myself whole.