I’ve been good.

Haven’t I?

I’ve done the work.

Dug through the dirt of my past

with bare hands,

scrubbed myself in therapy

until my soul was blistered clean.

I’ve healed.

I’ve glowed.

I’ve grown.

But where is he?

I’ve built a life.

Not just a placeholder,

not just a waiting room—

a life.

With softness and structure

and space for someone to stay.