Give me a cup of your silence

Spare me some love, Fidelis— the way a beggar spares a coin from the hand of a saint, or rain spares one roof while drowning the village. Give me what you have left after you have fed the wolves, after your heart has paid its taxes to every stranger who called it home. I do not ask for the moon. It has disappointed me enough— always hanging above the ruins like a witness too beautiful to testify. Give me a cup of your silence. I have learned to drink from empty things. I have kissed the rim of absence until my lips forgot what warmth was supposed to mean. Spare me some love, Fidelis— not all of it. Only what remains when the house is quiet, and the last door closes.