Miss-taken

I saw him come into me.
As he entered,
and took his shoes off
Sat on the bed, head in his hands
His shoulders moved
With each sigh.
Those shoulders
Which grazed past my very being
Every morning when
He made his froth less coffee.
I know, his head in hands, he is
Utterly and unquestionably
In love.

I look at him as he leaves
Each morning.
His then frail body,
Now taut with age and time.
I watch him think; knees spread
Body tensed, mind adrift.
I shelter him from what I feel
He isn’t capable of bearing.
Surprises are something
I’ve never enjoyed
And he has a knack of springing
The unknown upon me.
And I’m expected to accept.
Accept it all, like a home
And four walls should.

I am what he knows
Will be there even when everything
Crumbles, swallowed
Or washed away.
I am who he returns to
After the turmoil is over
After the hurricane stalls
I have to be static; stoic,
Even when he sits there,
Head in his hands
Broken and in rags from
Effigies of what remain.
The happy embers of
The days from the past
Searing through his memories
To burn his skin,
And I? I save him.

I am his place of comfort
I am… stagnant.
Unnoticed, thankless,
A presence taken for granted.
And yet, I stay and stay in wait
For the epiphany,
For the realisation..

I exist, I tell him,
Shout and I scream
And then silently weep
While he returns to the one
Who stemmed his woes

I exist, I whisper.
Give me a chance
To be a home
Instead of a mere shelter.

I exist, I murmur,
I am a person…
Not a home of four brick walls!

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