I found you
holding torn poems
like broken wings
telling me
you forgot the key
behind a locked room.

So I sat
on the cracked floor
beside you
and built a map
out of sighs
and stubborn hope.

You don’t need a perfect way out—
just a beginning
even if it looks hopeless
like more hurting.

I gave you my shoulder
the way
rain gives the earth a second chance
the way light waits
beside your door.

And when you can’t believe—
I'll believe twice as hard
with hopeful charm
and hopeless stubbornness.

Through your side
you’ll find the door—
you will.