I traced the patterns of your being
your feelings, your habits,
the quiet ways you moved through the world.
I paid attention.
Not to change you,
but to understand—
and often,
to carry what you could not hold,
no matter the cost to me.
I held it tenderly,
offered it back in open hands,
so you might feel,
if only for a moment,
the comfort of being fully accepted.
This moment is no different.
Even now,
as you turn away from the ache,
refusing to sit with it…
with me, with yourself…
I feel it all
the ways we’ve avoided the pain,
we once promised to share.
Still, I knew what was coming
long before you allowed it to surface.
I no longer choose
to hold this gently.
Now I raise it up,
not in anger,
but in clarity.
showing it to you/
I hope you find renewal in the depths of your despair. Much like I will have to.