What Maturity looks like

You asked me

if I know what maturity is—

It’s not fleeing to another’s arms

when a storm brews between us.

It’s standing in the rain,

letting the silence speak

while your family's words

cut through like cold wind.

It’s biting my tongue

as their glances weigh heavy,

choosing grace

over the easy fire of defense.

It’s waking to a job that dims me,

swallowing each hour like bitter medicine,

because I see her smile

and think,

“I’ll take this pain

so she won’t have to.”

It’s the tears you bring to my eyes,

not from weakness,

but from loving you so hard

that even when I’m broken,

my gaze still finds you.