I kept telling you

the road ahead was dark.

I pointed to every storm I could imagine.

Every goodbye.

Every reason we would not survive.

And each time,

you listened.

Not to argue.

Not to convince.

Just to understand.

I kept expecting you to grow tired.

To choose an easier path.

To find someone who did not come with so many fears.

But whenever I disappeared,

months later,

there you were.

Not standing at my door.

Not asking for answers.

Just a quiet knock,

as if to say,

“I am still here, if you ever stop being afraid.”

And perhaps that is what unsettles me most.

Not that you waited.

But that you never asked me to become fearless

before you were willing to stay.