First Choice

Don’t fear the breaking of my heart,
I’ve heard that sound before —
a quiet crack, a closing door,
a footstep on the floor.

I’ve been the name they almost chose,
the hand they nearly held,
the wish they made at midnight
then forgot when morning swelled.

I’ve learned the taste of almost,
how it lingers on the tongue,
how hope can sound like music
until the final note is sung.

Disappointment knows my room,
it comes without a key,
sits down beside the bed at night
and whispers, You know me.

I’ve been the place they rested
when the storm had torn them through,
the shelter in the bitter rain
before the sky turned blue.

I’ve been the pause before the poem,
the breath before the song,
the heart they held for comfort
but never held for long.

So do not fear you’ll hurt me,
I have made a home of pain,
I have learned to smile through endings,
I have danced with loss in rain.

I have folded up my longing,
I have hidden it away,
told myself that being chosen
was a dream for brighter days.

But then you came so softly,

not with thunder, not with flame,
just a kindness in your looking,
just a warmth around my name.

And something small within me,
something tired, something bruised,
lifted up its weary head
and wondered if it could be used

to hope again, to breathe again,
to trust a little more,
to leave the chain upon the table,
to unlock the guarded door.

You make me fear the light again,
because the dark I know;
but you have hands that do not rush,
and eyes that do not go.

So maybe all the others
were not proof that I was wrong,
but footsteps fading backwards
from a place they did not belong.

Maybe every almost
was a road that bent from you,
maybe every ending
was a sky I had to stumble through.

And maybe, maybe, darling,
you are different from the rest,
not another passing lesson,
not another quiet test.

Maybe you will see me
when my careful walls come down,
when the laughter leaves my body,
when I cannot wear the crown.

Maybe you will hold me
when my strength has come undone,
not because I’m easy,
but because you choose to run

toward the tender, torn-up places,
toward the parts I try to hide,
toward the boy behind the armour,
still afraid to step outside.

And maybe in your keeping,
I won’t have to beg or prove.
Maybe love won’t feel like pleading.
Maybe love will simply move

like morning through the curtains,
like warmth across the floor,
like someone seeing all of me
and still choosing me more.

So don’t fear the breaking of my heart,
I’ve heard that sound before —
but maybe you’re the silence
that comes after every war.

Maybe you’re the answered prayer
I never dared to voice.
Maybe I was never last —

just waiting
for my first choice.