Side Chick Poem by Ferguson Parker

Even in love's patient wait,
there are corners where desire lingers,
where longing waits in silence.
I am the quiet place
you come to breathe
after the storm you won't walk away from.
I know your body by memory now—
how you hesitate,
the tilt of your shoulder,
the quiet of your breath before you let me hold you,
like even your closeness
is borrowed time.
I love you fiercely.
That part is true.
I hear it in my own voice
when it softens around your name,
like saying it too loud
might break whatever this is.
But loving you
has never meant being chosen.
And I've learned how to live with that.
I am the late nights.
The almosts.
The "if things were different."
I am the future spoken carefully,
never promised,
never claimed.
I offer patience like it's devotion,
like waiting makes me noble.
So I wait.
Not because I don't know my worth—
but because hope sounds a lot like you
when you need me.
I wait while you return to a life
that doesn't include my name.
I wait while you miss me
without changing anything.
I wait while you love me
in ways that don't require sacrifice.
Sometimes I wonder
if you stay because I don't demand more,
or because you know
I'll always be here.
Sometimes I hate how easy
I make this for you.
You tell me I matter.
You tell me I'm different.
You tell me maybe someday—
But someday
has never learned my address.
And still,
when you reach for me,
I am here.
Steady.
Open.
Choosing you every time.
Not the man you pick—
but the man who loves you
in the spaces between decisions,
holding your heart
while you decide
if you're ever going to take mine too.