9 Lives

Sometimes I look at you and wonder why you can’t have more than nine lives. How can a heart like yours be measured by something so small? You don’t ask for much, just to be here, just to sit by me, when I feel like I’ve given the world too much of myself. You, with your steady gaze, Like you know something I don’t— That maybe I need you more than you need me, And still, you stay. Every day, every night— when I'm too much for anyone else, you stay. No words to fill the air, but somehow you make me feel like I'm not as lost as I seem. Choosing me, over and over. You didn’t have to, but you did. Every time. Without needing a reason, without needing a promise, and without needing a word. I wonder if you'll ever know how much it means, That you’re here for the days I can’t carry myself, For the nights that stretch too long, For the heart that forgets how to heal. When you curl up beside me, your warmth against my bones. You’re always there—soft, and constant— like you’ve known all along. And maybe you have. And it’s strange how you always know when I’m breaking, how you press yourself into the cracks, as if you could hold me together just by being near. The only one who knows when to sit still and when to come closer. You see me when no one else does, and I wish I could hold you longer than time allows. I don’t know how many lives you have left, but I’m scared of counting. I want every second, every breath you have to offer, because one day it will stop, and I’ll be left wondering if I deserved it. If only I could give you more time, I would. I’d give you the life I haven’t figured out how to love yet because in your quiet, gentle way, you’ve always known how to love me first. I think about what I will do when your lives run out, when you no longer wait at the other side of the door. How do I go on when one life ends and I can never repay the nine you gave to me?