The only bad you’d ever done
was see the good in me—
a version of myself
I didn’t believe in,
a softness I’d buried,
a light I swore
I didn’t deserve.
You looked at me
like I was something worth keeping,
even when I was all sharp edges
and quiet storms,
even when I pushed you away
just to see if you’d stay.
You loved the parts of me
I learned to hide,
held the pieces
I was ashamed to touch,
saw something whole
in someone who felt
always broken.
Maybe that was the problem—
you saw the best in me
when I was drowning
in the worst of myself.
Maybe the only bad thing
you ever did
was believe
I was better
than I knew how to be.
Through the Fog 