If The Hill Grows Quiet

I used to think we were walking the same road,

two travelers carrying the same weight,

seeing the same cracks in the world.

It felt less lonely

knowing you were beside me,

even in silence.

But somewhere along the way

I realized we were never on the same path.

Maybe our footsteps only seemed to echo together

because I wanted them to.

I saw the world breaking

and thought you saw it too.

I thought your anger was my anger,

your sorrow my sorrow.

I thought we stood shoulder to shoulder,

refusing to look away.

Now I see you walking

a road that bends inward,

lined with mirrors and dreamlight.

You carry your own sky there,

and in that sky

you are always right,

always safe,

always far.

I can’t follow you into that world.

I’ve tried.

I’ve climbed the hill with the boulder on my back

again and again,

and each time I reached for you,

I found only the echo

of the boy I once knew.

I’m learning that love

does not mean self-erasure,

and care does not mean

setting myself on fire for warmth you don’t feel.

My heart can stay open

without leaving my hands bloodied

on the stone of your silence.

I can’t carry both of us anymore.

But if the hill ever grows quiet,

if the mirrors ever crack

and you see the sky as it is—

I’ll still be here,

heart steady,

hands empty,

watching the horizon

for the boy with a galaxy in his chest

to find his way back.