The Leaving Hour

You speak to me like sunrise,

like I am a window that deserves to be opened,

like my breath doesn’t ruin the air.

You call me kind when I am shaking,

stay when I say I’m not worth the staying.

You run your fingers along the sharpest edges of me

and say they feel like art–

but I’ve learned beauty fades in the wrong lighting,

and love has lighting cues.

One day, even you will forget where the switch is.

One day, you’ll leave me too.

You make tea without asking how I’m doing,

just place it in my hands like instinct,

like care doesn’t need permission.

You never flinch when I break mid-sentence,

when my silence takes too long to end,

when I say things that sound too much like thunder.

But I’ve known storms that loved me

only when the rain stayed outside.

One day, you’ll close the shutters.

One day, you’ll leave me too.

You call me “light” on days

I am more ash tha ember,

when my laughter is a costume

I stitched from panic and performance.

You say I don’t have to earn your love

but every cell in me still tries,

Bargaining in small ways–

cleaning, smiling, shrinking.

Because I’ve only known hands 

that hold when the script is followed.

One day, I’ll miss a line, you’ll exit the scene.

One day, you’ll leave me too.

You sit beside my darkness

like it is a fireplace

instead of a threat.

You say I am not broken,

just built from different blueprints.

But i’ve been too much in rooms that echoed back

only when I was quiet enough to love.

Too intense. Too loud. Too complex.

Too everything.

One day, you’ll feel the limits break your bones.

One day, you’ll leave me too.

You say “always”

like you mean it.

You say “forever”

like it isn’t a dangerous word,

like time is something we both deserve.

But i have loved on leases,

been loved with invoices,

and my body knows

how to flinch at forever.

One day, I’ll ask too much, you’ll remember the door.

One day, you’ll leave me too.

You say you won’t leave–

and maybe you believe it

and maybe you mean it.

In the language of now,

the grammar of this breath,

this heartbeat,

this home…

But I’ve watched love rot

under the weight of my wiring,

watched affection curdle

when my scars rose too close to the surface.

One day, even the kindest hearts turn away.

One day, you’ll leave me too

Still, you stay.

Still, you reach for my hand

like it belongs somewhere.

And I hold it like a secret,

something borrowed

something blue

from a life I don’t believe is mine.

Because I love you.

God,

I love you.

But I have never been taught 

how to believe in love that isn’t

counting the cost of keeping me.

So I live in love’s echo,

waiting for the leaving hour.