We deserve the one
who helps hold the tremble in our hands
like it’s something sacred –
who doesn’t flinch when our shadows rise,
but welcomes them
as old friends with tired eyes.

The one who sees
Our silence not as stone,
but as a room echoing with stories
too heavy to speak.
And still, they stay.
Still, they listen.

We deserve the one
who is afraid to lose us –
not from fear,
but from the knowing,
the deep, bone-etched knowing
that love like ours
doesn’t come twice.

They see the ruin as we hide behind smiles
and say, “This isn’t broken.
This is art, mid-creation.”
They trace our cracks like constellations,
naming galaxies where others
only saw damage.

They see the storm
and don’t run.
They pull up a chair
and offer tea,
while the thunder rolls
and our heart remembers
how to soften.

They know
the mess isn’t malice,
the outburst isn’t betrayal,
the retreat isn’t rejection –
just pain,
spilling out of places
that never learned
how to bleed quietly.

And we,
for once,
do not shrink from that love.
We stand in it.
We breathe in it.
Let it echo through by our ribs
until it becomes ours too.

Because we deserve the kind of love
that sees all of us–
and stays.