Don’t measure my love by the brush of a hand,
For scars of the past still quietly stand.
It isn’t rejection, it isn’t the cold,
It’s stories of trauma my silence still holds.

I bloom in connection that’s steady and true,
In words that run deeper, in souls I see through.
Love isn’t in gestures that vanish too fast—
It’s roots intertwined, it’s a bond built to last.