I am the one

I am the one she tells everything to, even the words she's never spoken. She comes to me still warm from wherever she's been, and pours her heart out, still unbroken. The summer she laughed until she cried, the sun so loud it left a mark on her skin — I was there for that. And the night trust left without a coat, I stayed by the door and left her a note. I was with her. I am. I will stay. Not because she asked. Because I chose to. I keep the hearts she has stolen, and the ones who left without her knowing, the way a photograph keeps a room that no longer exists, tender and quiet, but glowing. Not a person. Not a place. Just paper that never once looked away — her dossier, her diary, her nostalgic token. I am the one she tells everything to, even the words she's never spoken.