Between Bruises and Blooms

Some people arrive like seasons,

beautiful,

necessary,

but always meant to leave.

You never did.

You stayed.

When the world grew quiet,

when grief swallowed whole conversations,

when there were no words left worth saying—

you stayed.

You stood beside me

through hospital rooms

and empty nurseries.

Through birthdays that hurt

and anniversaries that stole the air from my lungs.

You celebrated the children I carried home,

and you mourned the one I couldn’t.

You watched me break.

You never asked me to hide the pieces.

You simply sat beside them,

until I learned how to hold them again.

You’ve seen me angry,

hopeful,

heartbroken,

healing.

You’ve met every version of me,

and somehow,

you chose every one.

People talk about soulmates

like they only exist

between lovers.

But I found mine

in late-night phone calls,

cold coffee,

shared silence,

and the certainty

that if the world fell apart tomorrow,

you would already be on your way.

Time has changed us.

Life has tested us.

Distance has stretched us.

Loss has marked us.

Yet somehow,

every road has led us

back to each other.

You stopped being

my best friend

a long time ago.

You became my sister.

My chosen family.

My safe place.

My home.

If one day

someone asks me

what love looks like,

I won’t tell them a story

about romance.

I’ll tell them about the woman

who stayed.

Again.

And again.

And again.