I tidied the corners,
stories simmered in the chilli,
scattered petals on the grass —
rose-red, next to a single lily.

I’d chosen the music with care,
but laughter co-wrote the score,
each chorus pulling us closer
to something warmer than before.

We bathed in rain, clouds, and sun,
each one carrying a moment,
where secrets come undone,
and quiet truths are spoken.

The fairy lights lit up,
as the world flipped slowly —
a circle of soft goodbyes
turning intimate into holy.

As the solstice faded,
and it struck twelve once more,
a day like this feels sacred,
as the season shifts the shore.

This night won't conclude us,
though the dusk will surely dim.
We are only at the beginning,
on the edge where stories swim.