The collection
You are the serenity that travelers mistake for chance, the whisper a forest keeps in the folds of its leaves. There is a constellation tucked into your gaze, a patient flame, not burning, but glowing, like a truth that refuses to shout.
I have loved with the gravity of planets clung to bodies as if they were lifeboats sailing toward the infinite hush
Now the mirror shows a stranger I recognize. The same eyes, but deeper. The same hands, but steadier.
And still, in rare quiet evenings, I feel you like fading perfume, a tender ache under my ribs, a gift I could not keep, a love unheld, yet once real.
Today I thank the simple things: the spoon that rests, the milk that bends into silk, the sun leaning gently through the window.
And so I let it be. No forcing the current, no rushing the sun. Just one day, then another, on and on, until whatever this is becomes what it’s meant to be.
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.
Now, only the echo of you remains in the steam, rising like a ghost that refuses to forget the flavor of our mornings.
Your pretty smile is a hush beneath thunder, a gentle harbor in the stresses of man’s days. The world shouts, breaks, and tumbles – but you, you are the smile that mends it.
Another sunrise. Another chance to get it right. And I will. Because the fire’s back – quiet, controlled, mine.