Somewhere beyond the old wooden fence,
all those summer nights we spent
down by the river blasting Van Halen,
drinking beers you stole from your dad,
we planted something unseen.
A vine, maybe, twining the spaces
between words we never had to say.
It was never grand gestures.
It was the night you found me
unraveling on your doorstep,
and you sat with me
like a warm blanket,
until morning.
Or the time I called you
at 1 am and you drove to Boston
because you refused to let me drown.
No questions, no judgment,
just a steady hand on my shoulder,
and a promise that I wasn’t alone.
I am here.
I am here.
If you needed my last breath,
I would give it to you.
I am here, and stronger now.
I will carry
whatever you can't.
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