I not only feel your love each day,
I carry it—stitched into my mind.
I see it when I close my eyes:
your smile,
your hands in mine.
In my darkest hours,
I find your face—
joy written in every line.
Our hands meet,
foreheads rest,
your head against my chest.
I breathe deep—
calm settles
like a hush across my storm.
The world bends around us,
light and sound yielding
to the soft pulse
of our shared breath.
Our love—simple,
but with depths
unfathomable.
We’ve not touched the bottom yet.
We lie beneath
the gentlest blue light,
whispering secrets,
fears,
and pain,
watched by a congregation
of childlike toys—
reminders to stay,
to be.
Our hearts laid bare
in this sacred space,
transcending the world outside.
We love in the quiet ways—
in farmers markets,
in trinkets,
in held space.
An unconditional bond
born from pain,
from grief,
from survival.
We are stitched together
with coffee,
tea,
travel,
stuffed animals,
and shared scars.
Our love has endured
calamity and confusion,
yet we remain—
celebrating,
growing,
thriving.
It is our spine—
the strength we built,
the bond we chose.
I feel it
when my soul cries out.
Your smile—sunlight
chasing shadow,
your hands—lifting,
holding,
soothing the sobs
that silence me.
Even apart,
our love continues the story.
A thread between hearts—
unbroken,
unseen,
but always there.