My beloved,

you who stand beside me in the quiet hours of my despair,

do you not see the burden I carry?

It is not of the body, for the body endures;

it is of the soul,

woven with threads of fear and longing.

You speak to me with the voice of the wind,

soft yet unyielding,

and your words rise like a tide
against the cliffs of my sorrow.

In your calm, I find a mirror to my tempest,

and in your silence, the wisdom I have long sought.

These battles we fight are not waged with swords,

nor are they seen by the eyes of men.

They are the wars of the spirit,

where darkness wrestles with light,

and the heart is both the battlefield and the victor.

Do not pity my scars,

for they are the sigils of my becoming.

Do not fear my tears,

for they water the garden of my resilience.

The future stretches before us like an endless sky,

painted with the colors of our dreams and fears.

And though I have spoken of death,

it is life that calls me forward,

its voice a whisper, a song, a command.

Together we walk, you and I,

not toward an ending,

but toward a beginning of an unknown future.