When the light dims
and the noise finally quiets
no one will ask what we owned
or how we were admired for this
or that

The trophies will rust in their cases
The titles will loosen from our names
Even our arguments, sharpened to win
will lie dull and unused.

There will be no defense built from busyness
No appeal filed in the courts of intention
No footnotes explaining why we could not love
this person
at this moment
in this particular need

The question will not be complex
It will not require theology
or eloquence

It will sound like a simple wound

Did you love
(when it cost you something real)
Did you stay
(when leaving was easier)
Did you see the face in front of you
(instead of the mirror you preferred)

Love not as an idea
not as a banner
not as a belief you defended
but as bread broken
time given
forgiveness swallowed before it was deserved

In that evening light
truth will not raise its voice
It will only hold up what remains

And what remains
will be
either terrifyingly empty
or unbearably full