There is no better love that fate could weave,
no gentler soul to hold against my storm.
Where others stumble, tremble, turn, or leave,
you meet my chaos—give it space to form.
You are the melody weaving through my wild,
the steady pulse beneath my fractured sound;
and I, whimsical, restless, fierce, and styled,
find in your space a place where I am found.
I do not bow from duty, nor from role,
but from the awe your symphonic strength inspires;
you bend to me as I bend to your soul,
and keep me steady—the rhythm to my fires.
So let the world keep all its grand design,
for no greater symphony exists than thine.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 2:49 PM UTC
There is no better love that fate could weave,
no gentler soul to hold against my storm.
Where others stumble, tremble, turn, or leave,
you meet my chaos—give it space to form.
You are the melody weaving through my wild,
the steady pulse beneath my fractured sound;
and I, whimsical, restless, fierce, and styled,
find in your space a place where I am found.
I do not bow from duty, nor from role,
but from the awe your symphonic strength inspires;
you bend to me as I bend to your soul,
and keep me steady—the rhythm to my fires.
So let the world keep all its grand design,
for no greater symphony exists than thine.
This poem came to be after my husband shared a fear that I might be dissatisfied in our marriage.
I told him he was the only partner I would ever choose—but it didn’t feel like enough.
I’ve always been a little over the top, so I wrote this for him, so he never doubts that I wouldn't trade all the beauty in the world for even a second with him.
