In the Stillness Between Us #poetry

I stand at the rim of the lake,
you sit cross-legged beside me,
and we don't speak.
Stillness stretches — not as an abyss —
but as a silken thread pulled taut between breath and heartbeat.
You breathe; I feel it.
I blink; you see it.

No hidden folds tucked in the sleeves of our words,
no sleight of hand in the shadows of our smiles.
We exist —
bare, unadorned, an untouched canvas
reflecting only what is already there.
You, as you are.
Me, as I stumble, full-hearted, toward you.

Honesty bleeds at the edges of every glance.
When you lift your hand, you do not beckon;
you offer.
When I take it, it is not because I must,
but because I want to.

We build a kingdom of no pretenses,
no gilded thrones, no puppeteered moments.
Only the open field of trust,
where you run laughing into the horizon
and I follow, not to catch you,
but to marvel at the way you love the wind.

You tell me of your wounds —
not asking for stitches,
but for witness.
And I tell you of my buried maps,
the ones that led nowhere,
the ones I still folded tenderly into my chest
because even false paths teach feet to move.

You don't flinch at the crooked edges of my sentences.
I don't tighten the leash when you speak of longing
that doesn't include me.

We are architects of air,
builders of invisible bridges
where neither demands toll from the other.

You do not demand apology for the dents in my armor.
I do not carve out apologies from your laughter when it wanders.
Instead —
we tend to each other like gardeners in a forever spring:
weeding out judgment,
watering the silences,
naming the unnamed fears and letting them fly like moths into the evening.

You ask for nothing.
I give everything.
I ask for nothing.
You give everything.

(And the wonder is:
it does not weigh us down.)

I tell you I need a day alone.
You smile, and I feel no shame.
You tell me you want to build something that doesn't yet include me,
and I bless your wild hands, your bright eyes.

It is not sacrifice;
it is ceremony.

You laugh with your whole spine,
and I laugh because I can.

I fall silent — not in withdrawal,
but in the luxuriance of trust,
where silence is not a punishment but a soft bed.

You don't ask why.
You understand why.

When you falter, you fall against me sideways,
trusting I will not crumble beneath you.
When I collapse, you don't swoop in to fix —
you kneel and sit beside my wreckage,
honoring the temple even as its columns lean.

Forgiveness is not a transaction between us.
It is a river —
cool, self-sustaining, wrapping around our missteps
and carrying them into the open ocean of becoming.

You do not point at my wrongs.
I do not list your failings.
Instead, we pick them up together,
stones and driftwood,
and build bonfires on the nights that ache too much.

You tell me stories without trimming the ugly parts.
I write poems where you appear
with all your scars exposed like war medals.

You don't shy away.
You don't burn my gaze.

We name the storms without trying to reroute the wind.
We dance badly in kitchens to music from tinny speakers,
cackling like wild things.
And when the rain comes and the roof leaks,
we put out buckets and find rhythm in the plink-plink of water.

You dream.
I dream.
Sometimes they braid together;
sometimes they remain sovereign.
Both are holy.

There is no ownership here.
No fencing off.
No “mine” burning on the edges of our skin.

I love your fire without needing to douse it.
You love my hunger without needing to feed it.

And when we touch —
if we touch —
it is not conquest;
it is communion.

We walk — not chained,
but tethered lightly by choice and joy.

You say you are afraid.
I don't rush to soothe.
I listen.
I become the field where your fear can sit and breathe.

I say I am lost.
You do not map my escape;
you sit by the fire until I find my own way back.

In this, we become kin to the lake itself —
reflecting, yes, but also holding the sky.

We celebrate the brokenness,
not as things to fix,
but as evidence we have lived.

You do not expect me to become a statue.
I do not expect you to remain still forever.
We are moving parts,
messy and holy,
faithful to the growth the world forgot to dream of.

Gratitude becomes our currency —
spent freely, replenished naturally.

You thank me for breathing beside you.
I thank you for laughing at the bad jokes.
You thank me for staying silent when silence is needed.
I thank you for crying where I can see.

We build no temples to perfection.
We build boats to weather each other's storms.

And when you look at me,
you see me.
Not the mask,
not the idea,
not the future version with all the wrinkles ironed out.

Me.
Ragged. Glorious. Incomplete.

And I look at you —
all your stories, your battles,
your unfinished songs —
and I say: stay.

Stay as you are.
Stay as you change.

I will not tether you.
I will not tear you down.

I will grow a garden around your dreams,
and you will carve space in the sky for mine.

Here we are:
quiet,
wild,
simple,
together.

Not perfect.
Never perfect.
Only true.
Only free.

#Poetry  #Authenticity #Vulnerability #Trust #EmotionalConnection #DeepLove #Intimacy #RawEmotions #MutualRespect #EmotionalHonesty #LoveWithoutExpectations #EmotionalSupport #Freedom #Connection