For her
Before saying that one thing
you always wanted to say to someone else
but hardly say to yourself,
breathe—
know there is something inside
that is worthwhile,
that sometimes a friendship
is the closest you’ll ever get
but it’s better to laugh than not,
and, more often, a simple detail
makes her notice
that you notice her,
and when she does
remember that voice in your head which screams
“she deserves better than you”
isn’t a bastard,
just that part afraid of getting hurt again.
When she lays next to you, head on your chest,
listen to her breath
and know, in that moment, nothing else exists,
and if you’re unsure
of where your hands should go
let her guide you—
in each other you’ll find a missing part.
When she asks what you’re afraid of,
tell her—
tell her it’s fucking all this up
and being forgotten,
and when mistakes happen
don’t pretend they won’t linger and grow
into problems,
and know that words are no one’s strong suit
but even half a syllable weights more than silence.
When you see her slipping away,
don’t just reach out into the dark,
run—
run and, if it’s a distance you can’t outpace,
keep going;
there’s no use returning to empty space.
When you find yourself alone
in a crowd, like times before,
listen to that beating within
and know everything that was worthwhile
is still alive.
