they call u sol, because they know u by the way u brighten a room. but they’ve only ever met your light. to me, u’ve always been sola; the kind of quiet that teaches a wounded heart it doesn’t have to brace for leaving. the quiet syllable hidden inside solace; the place grief returns to when it grows too heavy to carry. because u looked beneath the rust in my bones,
past the smoke i called a soul,
into the rooms i kept bolted shut
for fear that knowing me would become a reason to leave. but u never mistook my wreckage
for a warning. u stayed. and i sometimes think thats holier than any sunrise. there is something sacred about a heart that chooses to remain after learning exactly what it’s remaining for. so if anyone ever asks why i’ll always call u sola instead of sol, it’s because the sun only knows how to rise. but u, u knew how to stay. happy birthday, to the soul that taught mine what staying looks like. i am always grateful to have u as my friend:)