I listen to an owl outside my window
as I try to fall asleep tonight.
I wonder what he’s trying to say.
Eventually, the sound and the thought are drowned out
by your heavy breathing.
With your head pressed up against my chest
everything finally feels as if it’s in the right place.
The jigsaw pieces of my battered heart are
finally put back together.
The chaos is finally put to rest.
She is asleep in your arms.

I am sorry for all the words that
spill out of me quietly. Toxic and sour,
they taste like spoiled milk.
They slip past my lips, salting wounds
that we both struggle with every day.
You have no reason to forgive me.
I say I love you as
I drive knives into your ribcage,
but I am sorry.

That owl once told me that
love is a decision- not just a feeling.
I decided so long ago that
I am going to love you and
let myself be loved by you.

He’s still outside chattering away
and I am still awake,
listening to your breathing,
wondering if I made the right decision,
wishing I could ask him,
but already knowing
he would say
yes.