For Those Who Forget How Much They Are Loved

You pulled away again.
Sharp-edged. Wordless.
That bark of yours doesn’t scare me anymore..
I’ve learned it's not teeth, just thunder.
And I’ve weathered worse storms
than your silence.
I felt the bite, yes.
But it didn’t bleed.
You forget sometimes
I’m not made of glass.
I’ve been forged in fire,
cracked open and sealed back together
with something thicker than sweetness.
Still...
I winced.
I won’t lie about that.

And yet, here I am.

Still boiling two mugs of tea

like you might walk in

grumbling, gruff,

but needing warmth anyway.

Still setting your name down in soft places

even when you’ve left mine

out in the cold.

I don’t love you with conditions.

But I also don’t love you with blinders.

I see the fight in you..

how it flares when you’re cornered by your own guilt.

How you try to wound the one who stays,

just to prove no one really will.

You don’t have to earn me.

But I won’t chase you, either.

That part? That’s yours to reach for.

I’ll stay,

not to fix,

not to scold,

but because once, when you weren’t drowning in your pride,

you let me hold the real you

tender, trembling, asking for nothing

but space to breathe.

And I never forgot.

So take your time.

Fumble. Fall.

Say too much or nothing at all.

I’ll still be the steady thing

you never had to perform for.

Still here.

Still open.

But don’t mistake softness for absence of edge.

Don’t confuse my silence

for shame.

You hurt me.

Not enough to break me...

just enough to remind me why I wait

at a distance now.

But I’m still yours

in the way a mountain is yours:

only if you come back to climb it.