Between Bruises & Blooms

Some people leave
because they are cowards.

Some leave
because staying would cost too much.

And some—

some tear themselves
out of your life
with both hands bleeding,
because they have convinced themselves
their absence
is the only gift they have left.

A mother stands at the edge of death
and chooses her children.

Not softly.
Not beautifully.

No final lullaby,
no gentle apology
for every year she wore love
like armor instead of warmth.

Just—

take me instead.

And suddenly
all the coldness has a pulse.

All the distance
has a name.

Love.

Then there is him.

The boy made of shadows
who spent his whole life
learning how to survive
by becoming dangerous.

And when the darkness finally
gets its teeth into him,

he does what wounded men do best—

he disappears.

Leaves behind a wife
who does not remember becoming one.

Leaves behind a kingdom
she never asked to inherit.

Leaves behind friends
whose names have become questions.

Bodhi.

Garrick.

Who fell?

Who reached for the earth
when their own power ran dry?

Who looked at the monsters
and decided
becoming one
was better than watching everyone die?

That is the cruel thing
about sacrifice.

Sometimes it looks like death.

Sometimes it looks like leaving.

Sometimes it looks like hands
pressed desperately to the ground
and a choice
that cannot be taken back.

And somewhere between
dragons screaming
and shadows swallowing the sky,

the ones who love hardest
keep disappearing.

Not because they stopped loving.

Because they loved enough
to become the thing
they thought would save us.

And gods—

sometimes
that is so much worse.