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I wanted to be an architect,

so I chose you.

Your hands became my plans,

your voice was the place I wanted to come home to.

So I started building. 

I built passionately,

even when I was tired.

Even when the walls started to lean.

Seasons changed.

And somehow,

I was holding a roof

with my bare hands

while you stood beneath it.

I kept fixing what kept breaking.

Kept believing in what kept fading.

Until I realized,

a house cannot stand

if only one heart

is trying to save it.

So I stepped back,

And I watched it all collapse while feeling the ruins in my skin. 

What we built was real.

It was beautiful.

It just wasn’t meant

to last this way.

And someday,

I will build again

with someone who brings their own hands,

their own weight,

their own love

to hold the walls with me.