Stay..
I know the ghosts have made their home in you—
taught your ribs to brace for every storm,
to turn affection into endurance,
and endurance into quiet.
You still flinch when I whisper stay,
as though the word itself might wound.
You’ve mistaken leaving for safety
and silence for peace.
Yet I see you—
beneath the iron of your stillness,
beneath the ache you wear like armor,
there lives a softer hope—
the wish to be held without harm,
to be known without being claimed.
You need not earn your place here.
The air is yours to breathe freely.
If you unravel, I will not turn away.
If you reach, I will not retreat.
For I too have called fear by fairer names—
caution, pride, composure—
and let them guard my heart
until love could not find a door.
So let me be the quiet you return to,
the steadiness that asks for nothing
but your unguarded self.
Here, gentleness is not weakness.
It is the vow that sees you breaking
and chooses, still, to stay.
