NEPHART.COM

My heart

was a makeshift tent.

Not a fortress.

Not concrete.

Just fabric

and faith

and a few stubborn ropes.

Wind-bent.

Storm-bruised.

It did not know

how to hold a name

without shaking.

Someone once

lit a fire inside it.

And I let it burn.

It rose into lava.

Bright.

Wild.

Uncontained.

She wanted porcelain.

Polished mornings.

Coffee that didn’t taste like smoke.

I was wildfire.

She wanted furniture.

People parked their feelings outside my tent

like temporary guests.

I boiled noodles.

Steam rising like hope.

They ate.

Left sketches in the dust.

Drove away.

The roof leaked.

Cold stitched itself

into my ribs.

A mouse made a kingdom in the corner

while I lay there

pretending fabric

was enough.

Some came carrying blueprints.

“If you choose us

we will build you a mansion.”

But I didn’t want marble.

I wanted someone

who could sit on the floor

and share the rain.

I praised the patience of a turtle

while the world

outran itself.

Finally

my feelings found a room.

But the walls were thin.

Eyes pressed against them.

Voices turned my shelter

into spectacle.

Laser light through canvas.

Sleep without rest.

Days folding into days.

And then…

One morning

there was no tent.

No ropes.

No fabric.

No walls.

Just sky.

Endless.

Unapologetic.

Wide.

I was afraid

for a moment.

Then the stars

kept their distance

but did not leave.

My worries

small as ash

drifted.

The night was big enough

to hold everything

I could not.

So now

I walk.

Carrying rope.

Carrying cloth.

Carrying fire.

Looking for ground

soft enough

for two.