The year breathes awake,
like the first blush of April.
A tenderness unfurls, slow and deliberate,
mirroring the hesitant green on the branches.
My heart, a landscape softened by spring rain,
finds its echo in your quiet strength.
A love less like a sudden storm,
more like the persistent warmth that coaxes life.

The distance between us, a winter frost receding,
leaving the ground fertile for something new.
Our entwining is not a sudden grasp,
but the gradual weaving of vines reaching for sunlight.
In the unfurling of each leaf, I see a promise,
a resilience reflected in your gaze.
This bond, not brittle, but flexible and deep-rooted,
like the enduring heartwood beneath the blossom.

Each petal that drifts down, a silent offering,
carries a piece of my being, a whispered devotion.
The air itself hums with a gentle longing,
a melody only my soul recognizes as your name.
I trace the delicate veins of a new leaf,
and find there the intricate map of my affection.
This is not a fleeting infatuation,
but a rooted yearning that stretches towards you.

The breeze carries not just air, but my unspoken words,
a soft sigh that journeys across miles.
My heart beats a rhythm that only finds completion
in the imagined cadence of your own.
Until the moment our paths converge again,
I find solace in the enduring promise of spring,
a quiet certainty that this love, like the season's return,
will meet its fullness under a shared sky.