Still a Stranger to His Heart
The earth miscalculated, the moon shone in the wrong direction.
Time and time again, I reached out my hand for him, lowered my shoulders so he could rest — yet still, I am not his home.
His trauma still lingers within him. When I ask about his feelings, he always says he’s fine, yet every action, every glance, tells a different story.
His dark eyes, his pale face — they say everything he won’t.
He is exhausted, yet I am still not the foundation he leans on.
All the burdens I tried to lift, all the seeds I nurtured so his emotions wouldn’t wither — it has all been my effort. But how long must I keep holding on?
You say you miss me, yet I am always the one reaching out to you.
All this time, I have made you my home, my Pandora’s box. I thought this was a two-way street, but I am still fighting alone.
I understand that everything takes time — that you need space to find yourself, to heal. Perhaps between us, someone is afraid of being left behind, and so, we tread too carefully.
You with your feelings, and I with my actions.
Even the ocean never forgets to return to its shore. And so, I will never grow tired of waiting for you to come home.
I am still here, in the same place, waiting for you, with a smile.
