Our eyes were constellations,
scattering questions
that language could never catch,
until laughter arrived
an ancient river
finding its long-forgotten sky.

Your presence was rainfall
after centuries of thirst,
a melody wandering home
to an instrument
that had dreamed of sound
in silence.

Absence was not a thief,
but a sculptor
its chisel filled the fractures
with molten gold,
kintsugi of the soul,
where brokenness bloomed into light.

Three years were not lost,
but spun into threads of becoming;
so when we met again,
it was not a return,
but a rebirth
a dawn that had been waiting
behind the horizon.

And in that eternal heartbeat,
I understood
time is powerless
against roots that grow
in the hidden gardens of love.