Between Bruises and Blooms

We learned
that hospitals
all smell the same.

That fluorescent lights
never soften
for broken hearts.

We learned
how to hold babies
we couldn’t keep.

How to buy clothes
that would never be worn.

How to answer,
“I’m okay,”
when the truth
would have taken
all day to explain.

We learned
that grief
doesn’t end.

It simply changes
the way you breathe.

Some days
it sat between us
without either of us speaking.

Other days
we laughed
until our stomachs hurt,
because surviving
still deserved
to sound like joy.

We learned
that friendship
isn’t built
during the easy years.

It’s built
in funeral homes,
hospital rooms,
courtrooms,
late-night phone calls,
and kitchens
where the coffee
has gone cold.

We learned
that chosen family
isn’t chosen once.

It’s chosen
again
and again
every time
life asks,
“Who will stay?”

You stayed.

And so did I.

We learned together.

Neither of us
wanted the lesson.

But if I had to walk
through every heartbreak again—

I’d still choose
to walk beside you.