I put the kettle on
when you walk through the door—
not for warmth,
but to drown out
the ache between us.
You talk about
the world unraveling
like it's the weather.
Grey skies. Broken systems.
Nothing to be done.
And I nod,
because arguing
is just another kind of silence.
You see the cracks,
but you stay seated.
I see the cracks,
and I climb through them,
hands bloodied,
building something new.
I wish you would meet me there—
not as the man
who never said sorry,
but as the boy
who once wanted to matter.
We are made of the same fire,
but you burn in place,
and I set out walking.
Still—
there is a part of me
that saves you a seat,
just in case
you decide to come home.
"because arguing
is just another kind of silence."
"We are made of the same fire"
"there is a part of me
that saves you a seat,
just in case
you decide to come home."
Beautiful 💕