A Warm Rock

Given the choice,
I’d be a rock lying patiently in the sun.
Not the star, not the moonlight,
but a small thing that remembers heat
long after it’s gone.

I’d wait for you to find me,
to press your cheek against my side,
to sigh into the surface of me
like you would melt into me if you could.

I would not ask you to stay.
I’d only hum beneath your skin,
quiet and certain,
the kind of warmth that doesn’t burn
but still knows the fire.

I’d carry your sorrow without changing shape,
cradle it in mineral silence,
let it pass through me like weather.

And when you left,
as everyone must,
I’d hold the ghost of your touch
a little longer than I should,
cooling slowly,
pretending your glow was still there,
and clinging to the scent of you.

Joy aches
knowing it’s temporary…
and safety fades
the moment no one reaches back.

I wanted to be enough for you to stay,
but we both know no one is.

For one long breath I was held by you,
and that was enough.