we stayed together, for the love of Christ

and one day

our home will hold a thousand memories

our bedroom will learn our names

the way we’ve learnt each other’s lingo.

 

the bedframe will remember our weight and laughter,

the nights we stayed awake together,

the mornings that we refused to let go

 

the sheets will know our voices,

crumpled with pointless arguments,

smoothed again by the whispered apologies

 

the wardrobe will hold more than clothes,

it will keep the versions of us we outgrew,

the edgy fits, the simple ones,

the phase where love felt easy,

the phase where it became a choice

a choice fuelled by this insane feeling

 

the mirror will portray our ageing kindly,

and watch our bodies change without judgment,

reflecting scars, insecurities and strength,

proof that staying is its own kind of beauty

 

the kitchen table will become an altar,

to have shared meals and unfinished conversations

that start with prayers of thanking God

for keeping us together,

 

the couch will remember days we folded into it,

regardless of how we fit,

because we were both as clingy as each other

whilst learning that love also means space

 

the hallway will echo with footsteps,

some hurried, some slow,

some belonging to children yet unnamed,

others to elders who taught us how to endure

older couples still with starry eyes

 

even the light switches will hold meaning,

switched off after hard days,

left on when we fear the dark together

 

and when the house finally knows us fully,

it will not just shelter love,

it will inherit it,

walls tilted in devotion and praise

floors grounded in admiration

a home that wasn’t built on perfection,

but on repetitive actions,

choosing each other over and over again,

until the love becomes generational

and this house a living archive of our love.