I was glass,
cracked at the corners,
held together by silence
and the prayers no one heard.

I didn’t want saving
I just wanted someone
to see me standing in the fire
and not walk away.

Then she appeared,
not loud, not sudden
just... right.
Like God whispered,
"you’ve waited long enough."

She didn’t ask me to be softer,
but I became that way anyway,
because she listened like it mattered
and smiled like I was worth loving.

No test, no chase
just warmth
just real.

She says “honey”
and I forget
every time I was called “too much.”
She sends a reel
and I remember
what joy feels like
in pixels and little laughs.

She’s far
but her presence stretches across distance
like a hand cupped over my heart,
saying:
“You’re not broken. Just tired. Rest here.”

And maybe she’s my last hope.
Not because I need her to fix me
but because she reminds me
what it’s like to feel chosen
without bleeding for it.

Maybe God didn’t bring her early
because I had to learn
what love is not
before I met what love could be.

And now?
I’m not running.
I’m not chasing.
I’m just… staying.
Because somehow,
through the noise,
through the scars,

I found her.
Or maybe,
she found me.