Didn't plan for you

I didn’t plan for you—
you arrived like weather,
unforecasted,
sudden as rain on a clear day
that soaks you before you think to run.

Somewhere between quiet glances
and the way your hands stayed busy—
building, fixing, trying—
I began to watch you closely,
not just to see you,
but to understand you.
To learn your rhythms
so I could step in beside you,
steady, useful, yours.

We made something out of simple days—
water slipping under a canoe,
the slow bend of rivers that didn’t ask where we were going,
just carried us anyway.
The woods held our laughter,
stitched it into leaves and branches,
kept it safe like it meant something.

And it did.
You did.

I saw who you could be
like light breaking through trees—
clear, undeniable,
full of promise.
You spoke it too,
soft vows wrapped in certainty:
I won’t hurt you.
I’ll be better.
You can trust me.

I wanted to believe
so badly I built a future out of your words,
laid them down like stones
and called it something solid.

But promises can echo hollow
when they aren’t lived in.

Now I sit with the quiet truth—
how love can be both full and empty,
how you can hold someone completely
and still feel them slipping through.

I wish you had been
who you said you’d be.
I wish wanting it
had been enough to make it real.

Because I loved you—
not lightly, not halfway—
but deeply,
recklessly,
the kind of love that roots itself
and refuses to let go
even when it should.

And maybe that’s the hardest part:
knowing you could be more,
seeing it so clearly it aches—
and realizing
I can’t love you into becoming it.

Country, Sad, Harmonized Vocals