In the quiet of our hearts,  
where the shadows hold our secrets,  
I feel her touch,  
tracing the scars of our stories,  
mapping the
                             constellations  
woven into our skin—  
the universe conspiring,  
whispering truths we’ve long
                                             forgotten.  

We are not just observers;  
we are the keepers of tender hopes,  
nurturing thoughts like fragile blooms,  
each one a promise,  
a breath caught in the stillness,  
waiting to unfurl in the light,  
a heartbeat echoing  
through the corridors of our souls.  

I shiver under the weight  
of this endless journey,  
where endings are merely doorways,  
and in every shadow,  
a spark of light flickers,  
the way we shed our pasts,  
embracing the cycle,  
the gentle sway  
between night and day.  

In the pulse of our connected hearts,  
we are reborn,  
the echoes of who we were  
intertwined with who we’ll be,  
lovers hidden in the twilight,  
bound by threads of silence,  
in this sacred space,  
we discover our true selves,  
held close in the arms of our humanity,  
the cosmos  
nestled in our palms,  
waiting for  
the dawn of clarity,  
like a whisper aching to
                      
                                     break free.