Do not think I exaggerate.
Love is exact.
It measures the distance
between two chairs,
counts the seconds
between one message and the next,
knows precisely
how much silence a heart can carry
before it breaks like a plate
dropped on a kitchen floor.
A man fights many things in his life,
but the river inside him is not one to break
with fists.
You watch it.
You learn the shape of its current.
You drink your coffee and breathe.
Now the mirror shows
a stranger I recognize.
The same eyes,
but deeper.
The same hands,
but steadier.
Today I thank the simple things:
the spoon that rests,
the milk that bends into silk,
the sun leaning gently
through the window.
I smile for you,
because love,
when it’s true,
is stronger than loud thunder,
gentler than falling leaves,
patient as the deep roots,
clinging to mountain’s dark heart.
Another sunrise.
Another chance
to get it right.
And I will.
Because the fire’s back –
quiet,
controlled,
mine.
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.