I loved you like a lantern
left burning through the night—
a small and steadfast promise
you never saw for light.
I carried all your sorrows
like secrets in my sleeve,
hoping you might notice
how gently I would grieve.
You spoke of distant futures
I’d never be a part,
drawing maps upon the table
with no room for my heart.
Still I stayed, a muted shoreline
for waves that weren’t my own,
learning how devotion
can make a house of stone.
And though you never meant it,
your absence grew a thorn—
a bloom of wanting, aching
for a love not yet born.
So now I walk without you,
but quietly, I keep
the echo of that almost
folded where I sleep.
For some loves never blossom,
yet leave their perfume still—
the scent of something tender
that never had its will.
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