Between Bruises & Blooms

I wish I’d been calling
just to ask how you were.
To laugh about nothing,
to trade ordinary moments
instead of carrying a storm.

Instead, I arrived
with shaking hands
and words that neither of us
wanted to hear.

I watched your questions
grow heavier than my answers.
I watched panic
fill the spaces between our messages,
and I hated that I couldn’t give you certainty.

I’m sorry
if I handed you fear
before I handed you hope.

I’m sorry
that all I had
were fragments,
rumours,
articles,
and worry.

You deserved better
than a conversation
made of unknowns.

If I could rewrite that afternoon,
I’d still tell you
because I cared too much
to stay silent.

But I’d hold your hand first.

I’d remind you
that no matter what the truth became,
you wouldn’t have to carry it alone.

Sometimes love looks like warning someone.

Sometimes love looks like apologizing
for being the one
who had to.

And I hope one day,
when this ache belongs to yesterday,
you’ll know

I never wanted to be the bearer of heartbreak.

I only wanted to be your friend.