The house didn’t fall
when they left.
The kettle still boils,
the dog still waits
for your voice in the morning.

Time to forget
the way you bent to fit
what was never built for you.

The sky hasn’t stopped
its slow turning.
Magpies still sing.
You breathe.
Something holds.

This isn’t the end.
It never is.
The right one
won’t ask you to shrink.
What stays
will stay
without being begged.

Ryan Stone