What I Remain

My love for you knows no far edge,

no border where it stops or bends —

it grew past wanting, past the need

to be repaid for what it spends.

If strength is what these days demand,

I'll be the one who carries weight.

I'll stand with you against the odds,

unmoved by distance, doubt, or fate.

But if my staying costs you peace,

if my shadow dims your light —

then let me be the one who leaves,

so you can walk back into bright.

Both roads take something out of me.

Only one should cost you still.

I'd rather empty my own hands

than watch you break against your will.

All I have ever wanted, love,

is for the weight to lift from you —

the worry, and the quiet ache,

the burdens I may have walked you through.

I meant it once, I mean it now:

I'll bear what people bear for love.

When you are walking through the fire,

don't stop — there's nothing waiting of

value in the flame itself.

Keep moving till you're through the worst.

I'm sorry for the parts of this

that trace back to me, or came in first.

Whatever door you choose to take,

I won't pretend it's owed to me.

This love was never built on terms —

it simply is. It lets you be.

So here's my hand, if you should need it,

and here's the space, if that serves best.

I remain — however this reads —

still yours, in motion or at rest.