I will be the weight that grounds you. People like us don’t have a home.

We are survivors, shaped by pain, building shelter out of what broke us.

All I ever wanted was to be that home for you, to keep love alive in the cold, protect each others fragile souls, to discover worlds and build up what was taken from us long ago, together.

Now I’m haunted by abandonment, the same ghost that still holds you.

The more I tried to protect, the more savage I must have seemed. But I wish you’d remember: all this blood is not yours, not mine, it is theirs.

Spilled in every fight I waged to keep the world from breaking us.

My growl rose while I was trying to chase your ghosts away. My heat meant to warm, not burn. My teeth bared only to shield, never to wound you. I held watch so fiercely that I stopped being soft.

Forever waiting for you to remember: those glowing reflections of eyes in the dark woods are not a danger. They are mine, watching, guarding from afar, hoping you’d someday come home. Safe.

This home was never walls. It was wherever we lay together, your naked skin against my fur, warming your cold heart in my heavy breath.

I wish you’d remember who I am, that I am not the demon in your head

I wish you’d rest your bruised body against mine once again and I’d calm your troubled mind.

I’d watch over you, the whole night.

I’d chase away the shadows.