The Porch Swing

my heart has a porch swing
and it’s got your name on it.
paint-chipped, sun-warmed,
swaying slow in the golden hush
between what was and what might still be.

it waits there—
not desperate,
just certain—
like it knows that love, real love,
always finds its way back.

sometimes the wind stirs it,
an echo of your laughter in its chains,
the ghost of your hand
brushing mine like a dare.
and oh, how that memory swings—
soft and sweet,
a little unruly,
full of all the things we never said
but felt anyway.

i’ve seen lifetimes pass
from this swing.
watched seasons curl and uncurl,
watched my edges fray
and my roots dig deep.
but still,
your name hasn’t peeled from the wood.
not once.

so if you’re ever tired,
if the world grows too loud—
come sit a while.
we’ll count stars
and not minutes.
we’ll let the silence
say what words never could.

because my heart?
it still swings your way.
and there's a space beside me
just waiting.