To the one who walks beside me

There are stories in my hands you’ve never read,
There are quiet battles in my eyes you’ve never learned.
I have carried volumes of hours you left behind,
Stitched torn but back into shape,
Stood guard over the small stumbles Which kept this home alive.

You may not have seen the storms,
Because I learned to smile through rain,
You may not have seen my fragments,
Because I learned to mask through grace,
But the ground you stand on is dry,
But I was the one standing in the flood.

One day, when the air is still enough,
You may hear the echo of what I bore,
When you come to see, My silence was never an emptiness,
But the deepest form of love I knew,
My grace was never a weakness,
But the subtle strength to winnow the
wine.