Quiet Fear Beneath the Want

What if the love you give is only borrowed time?

I've known the way devotion turns and learns to bruise.

I hold my breath, trust you, soft, fragile, and mine.

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Your kindness is so steady, it could almost be a sign,

yet memory shrieks warnings I can't easily refuse.

What if the love you give is only borrowed time?

-

You say you aren't the ones who taught my hope to climb

only to cut it loose and hand the hurt an honest excuse.

I hold my breath, trust you, soft, fragile, and mine.

-

I am careful with the doubt that settles in my spine,

the fear that love can bloom before it starts to lose.

What if the love you give is only borrowed time?

-

I try to separate your warmth from the ghosts of that decline,

but every promise echoes ones that ended in a bruise.

I hold my breath, trust you, soft, fragile, and mine.

-

Still, in the dark, the question circles like a sign,

a quiet worry that shadows every vow you choose:

What if the love you give is only borrowed time?

I hold my breath, trust you, soft, fragile, and mine.