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a house i would have built, a love that could have been | poem

♪: for sure by ethel cain

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we never spoke of forever,
but i would have carved one for you.
i would have taken the bones of my
restless heart and built you a home.
brick by brick, breath by breath.

i would have folded my wanderlust
into the corners of a stable life,
pressed my wild edges into
the seams of linen curtains,
let my dreams of open roads
wilt in the garden you planted,
roots curling around my ankles,
pulling me into a world i never thought
i could belong to.

i used to dream about a treehouse.
wooden slats nailed into the sky,
a place where the world felt endless,
where the air was mine to breathe.
i wanted a ladder to the clouds,
windows open to the wind,
a home with no walls,
no boundaries, no weight.

but i would have traded it
for your white mansion.
for a house with doors that locked
and chandeliers heavy with light,
for the stillness you carried
in your hands.

i would have left my yearning
in the forest, buried it beneath
the hush of pine needles,
let the breeze take
the last whispers of my old self —
the girl who longed for nights
where the trees stretched taller
than skyscrapers,
for mornings where the river
spoke only to her.

i would have let her vanish,
if it meant being the woman
you could bring home.

i would have followed you.
stepped out of the wilderness,
bare feet on cool tile,
swapped the scent of damp earth
for the perfume you could say
smelled like a wife.
i would have brushed my hair smooth,
let it fall like silk instead of wild tangles,
worn dresses soft as sunday mornings,
learned how to keep a house warm
even as i carried winter
in my bones.

i would have learned to love
the steady rhythm of things —
the patio glow flickering on at dusk,
the hum of a kettle in the quiet mornings,
the slow murmures of a life
that never strayed.

a son with your strong hands.
a daughter with my moon-drenched eyes.
laughter braided into
the fabric of the house,
tiny footsteps echoing
on polished floors,
hand-me-down lullabies
sung in hushed tones,
as if this love could be cradled
into something permanent.
something safe.

a quiet home.
a porch light burning like an oath.
a love steady enough to keep me still.

i would have given up the open sky
for a fenced-in garden,
let the wind scatter my reckless dreams
far beyond reach,
traded the call of the unknown
for a name etched in stone beside yours.
i would have taken your last name
like a secret whispered at the altar,
worn it like a veil, like a tether,
like a promise i was willing to keep.

i would have become
the woman you needed,
the one who knew
how to calm the storm
that haunted your nights,
who kissed your forehead
at the end of each day
and never spoke of
the trees still growing
in her dreams.

so believe me when i say —
if you had asked me
to marry you,
i would have.
yes. i would have.

for you, i would have
learned to be something
certain instead of always leaving.
for you, i would have
chosen the ordinary —
just to stay by your side.