I Stayed With You

A response poem to Thrice "Stay With Me"

I was the silhouette-
the ghost you pulled from the rubble,
skin and bone, shaking like the echoes of bombs
you swore had stopped.

You held my hands like they were lifelines-
and maybe they were.
Fragile, fevered hands
that clung to yours like hope
while the world turned to ash beneath our feet.
And still, we walked.
Step after step,
you carried us forward,
like if you didn’t stop moving
we’d find something worth saving.

I stayed with you.
Not because the war was over,
because it never was.
It still burned inside you-
the battle you couldn’t name,
the war you wouldn’t let me see.
And I stayed.

Through nights when the dark didn’t knock,
it barged in, uninvited.
We’d sit-
a can of something stale,
a bottle of something strong-
and you’d drink.

Trying to drown the noise
in the quiet you never trusted.
You broke from the inside out.
Me, from the outside in.

I stayed with you,
even when the war wasn’t ours to fight.
Even when the world began to heal,
and you... didn’t.

Do you remember?
The nights you stared at the ceiling
like it held answers
to questions you never asked me?
I saw you unravel, thread by thread,
and I tried to weave you back together
with the only hands I had.
But maybe you were never mine to fix.

I stayed.
Through the fire you thought you’d put out,
but it kept sparking in your chest.
I stayed,
through love that was more battlefield than sanctuary.
Through the silence
that cut sharper than any scream.
Through the nights you looked at me
like you weren’t sure who I was anymore.
Or who you were.

You fought demons,
and I fought for you.
But love-
love isn’t a victory.
It’s not medals or parades.
It’s the quiet choice
to keep showing up
when everything is crumbling.

I stayed with you.
Even as you slipped away,
piece by piece,
word by word.
Even as your love faded like smoke,
and I held on,
trying to gather it in my hands-
only to watch it drift through my fingers.

I stayed.
Because someone had to.
Because you carried me through the rubble,
and I couldn’t leave you there,
alone.

I stayed with you.
Not because the war was over,
but because I couldn’t leave
before it was done.

And maybe that’s what love is.
Staying.
Even when the war
isn’t yours to fight.