You walked into my small day and made the room feel wide. .
I saw in your easy smile the world I never had to hide. .
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You asked a simple question and listened like it mattered. .
My fear was still in pieces but my shame was less scattered. .
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I learned that how I see you is also how I see me. .
If I look through hurt and judgment, I call comfort an enemy. .
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So I started to choose my lens like a craftsman with his wood. .
Shaping quiet acts of kindness into something fierce and good. .
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You taught me that a gentle word can shift a heavy night. .
That one soft act of noticing can turn regret to light. .
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But love is not a rescue line that pulls you from your pain. .
It’s a bridge laid board by board, in sun and in the rain. .
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I hammered down my boundaries on the bank where I still stand. .
Not a wall to keep you out, but a line drawn by my hand. .
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I will not build on quicksand just to keep you by my side. .
I can hold you with an open palm and still protect my pride. .
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I’ve walked on eggshells long enough to know what they become. .
A carpet made of fragments that keeps both our voices numb. .
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So I speak with kinder honesty, even when your armor shakes. .
I will not call it loving when it only feeds our breaks. .
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You circle at your end of things, afraid the boards will fall. .
You test each step with stories of the ones who broke it all. .
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You want me to grow tired first, to prove the world untrue. .
To leave you in your loneliness so it never leaves you too. .
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But I stay without possession, I remain without demand. .
I refuse to crush my spirit just to prove I understand. .
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Forgiveness is the quiet work I do when you withdraw. .
Not a door you have to walk through, but a shelter that I saw. .
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I forgive the words you sharpened just to see if I would flee. .
I forgive the glass you carry, though it still might cut on me. .
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Because someone once forgave me when I shattered what we had. .
They held their ground with tenderness and refused to call me bad. .
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That mercy lit a lantern in the hallway of my chest. .
It showed me how a weary soul can learn a different rest. .
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So now when I say your name, I feel both ache and grace. .
You are wound and inspiration, you are loss and you are place. .
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You brought out in me a courage I thought only saints could show. .
To love without erasing me, to stay and still let go. .
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If you ever cross this bridge, it will be by your own will. .
You will find no chains to bind you here, just a quiet heart made still. .
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And if you never cross at all, this work will not be waste. .
The craft I learned in loving you will frame another’s taste. .
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For every soul that trembles at the thought of being known. .
I keep this sturdy bridge of mine, from all the hurt I’ve grown. .
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And when they walk with shaking steps, afraid that love won’t stay. .
I’ll remember how you taught me to see wonder in the day. .
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The meaning of our story is not only what we lose. .
It’s the quiet, fierce decision of the lens that we still choose. .

RSP

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DCG