I crossed the bridge not built of stone,
but made from words you softly loaned—
the ones that told me how it felt
to carry grief you never dealt.
You didn’t shout. You didn’t teach.
You simply let your silence reach
across the years, across the shame,
until I gently spoke your name.
And in return, I gave you mine—
not just the name, but all my spine.
You saw the battles I had won
and held the ones I still outrun.
We met not halfway, but heart to heart,
in tender ruins pulled apart.
And standing there, I understood:
what’s built on love is truly good.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf