Kitten of Ocean

I Found it

in the second half of my life.

I found her in an ocean of souls.

She was sick when I found out;

still, I tried to care.

It didn’t go the way I wanted.

I tried to help,

then realized what was needed

was not help.

What did she want?

She wanted not to be hurt.

So she closed herself gently,

not to disappear,

but to survive.

Her scars did not seem

to heal with time,

yet they no longer bled

the same way.

I wanted to share the pain,

but the wary cat she is,

I learned

not every open hand is comfort.

So maybe I should become

the shadow of myself,

hidden from the man I was,

yet always near.

Not to watch her suffer;

but to give her space

to breathe,

to heal,

to remember herself.

Because time does heal;

not by erasing,

but by softening.

And if something still remains,

it means the story

is not finished yet.

I just want her healed, I suppose.

But can I do it, staying near her?

Without speaking is worse;

but watching myself disappear

from her life

is harder.

Can I do it?