Can I hold space for the parts of you that lead me to hurt?
I want space from the part of you
that tells me I’ll leave—
because everyone leaves,
because everything ends.
But I can sit with her,
for as long as I need to,
until my cup runs dry.
I want space from the woman
who meets closeness with a wince,
who pulls away before I even reach.
Every smirk, wildly distant,
feels like rejection in disguise—
like she’s already disgusted
by how much I still want her.
But I show up anyway—
because I want to speak to you.
Because I couldn’t sit
and speak only to myself.
That’s the kind of love that terrifies us the most.
The kind that keeps showing up
Proving past pain wrong,
Knowing we are loved no matter what.