Between Bruises & Blooms

Funny,

how the hands
that once promised
to break me

became the hands
trying desperately
to put me
back together.

But you cannot
mend someone
by pretending
the cracks
never happened.

You cannot
love trauma
out of a body.

Cannot kiss
the nightmares quiet.

Cannot simply say

I am here now

and expect
every frightened piece
to believe you.

Mending
is slower than breaking.

Breaking takes
one terrible moment.

Mending takes
a thousand
ordinary ones.

A hand
that stops
when I flinch.

A question
instead of an order.

The patience
to let me decide
what is real.

The willingness
to stand nearby

while I learn
how to belong
to myself again.

Maybe that
is what love
should have been
from the beginning.

Not

I will save you.

Not

I will fix you.

Just—

I will sit
beside the wreckage

until you remember

your hands
still know
how to rebuild.