Second Wind
Another sunrise.
Another chance
to get it right.
And I will.
Because the fire’s back –
quiet,
controlled,
mine.
Another sunrise.
Another chance
to get it right.
And I will.
Because the fire’s back –
quiet,
controlled,
mine.
I choose the memory of your hands
cupping my face like a prayer.
I choose the stories you told,
woven into the quiet spaces of my heart.
I choose the castles, the palaces,
the old stone bridges you never saw,
but would have loved.
And your name –
you call it funny,
but to me, it rings like poetry,
the kind that arrives unannounced,
stays in your chest for days,
and reminds you of soft dawns,
of spring mornings
too perfect to repeat.
Moving on is not forgetting –
it’s letting the ashes settle,
letting the wind carry what remains,
while we walk forward,
hands empty, but hearts open
for the fires yet to come.
Time and again,
we push through the dark,
through the endless turning of days,
never surrendering,
never undone.
My eyes, open to light,
to the glisten of dew on blades of grass,
to the dance of shadows across the ground,
as if the earth itself breathes,
stretching, stirring,
and I am part of its waking,
alive in every quiet miracle,
every whisper of the world.
And so, I find myself craving you,
not out of need,
but out of a desire to share
this life I’ve built,
to blend our paths and
create something even more beautiful.
Because while I was happy in my world,
with you,
happiness has a new depth,
a richness I can’t ignore.