I walk on glass, afraid to break
the careful peace I’ve tried to make.
Each word I speak, each move I choose
feels like a line I’m scared to lose.

I hold my breath, I check, rewind,
searching for faults I hope you won’t find.
One slip, one step, and I might see
the end of you, the end of me.

Your love’s a gift I barely trust,
so pure and deep, so fierce and just.
Yet here I am, afraid I'll scar
the thing I need, the thing you are.

But love’s not glass, it’s tough and true,
so maybe there's space for me and you—
for flawed and broken, for trying again,
to build a love that fear can’t bend.

Across the miles, you’re close, yet far,
a voice I hold like a falling star.
I trace your words in the empty night,
hoping they'll stay, hoping they’re right.

You’re threads of gold across the sea,
a dream I keep, a need in me.
In whispered calls and scattered time,
I’ve bound my heart to the rhythm of rhyme.

Each goodbye tastes bittersweet,
a thousand chances left incomplete.
And still, I cling, afraid to know
if letting go is letting go.

But love—our love—is a wild, fierce thing,
it weathers distance, every sting.
So here I wait, though fear may grow,
I hold you close and won’t let go.