my Bipolar Sunshine

byMissT

He is sunlight in the morning
warm on my skin
easy laughter
kettle boiling
hands steady while he fixes my car.

Then the sky tilts
and something shifts behind his eyes.
A quiet storm gathers
not anger
just a heaviness
that wraps itself around him
and tries to pull him under.

I watch him fight it.
Some days he wins.
Some days he goes quiet
lost in thoughts he never speaks
trying to find his footing on ground
that moves without warning.

His love is real though.
Even in the dark parts
he reaches for me
sometimes in silence
sometimes in fear
sometimes in the softest ways
that break my heart with their truth.

I see the man
not the illness.
The man who tries.
The man who fixes what he can.
The man who holds me like he is searching for home.

His bipolar is a tide
but he is the ocean
deeper and gentler than the waves that hit him.
And I stand with him
not as a saviour
not as a saint
but as the woman who sees him clearly
and still stays.