You hold my words like treasures,
tucking them away in the folds of your heart,
saving each photo, each whisper,
as if they are pieces of me you never want to lose.
You say my name like it’s something soft,
something safe, something yours.
I hear it in the way you miss me,
in the way you tell me I’m beautiful,
as if the word was meant only for me.
Every little message, every sleepy thought,
you catch them, hold them, answer them—
never letting them fade into silence.
You listen, you see me, all of me,
not just what the world sees, but what I am.
You don’t just want my touch,
you want my mind, my dreams, my poetry.
You let me be the poet, and you, my muse—
but I think you are the real poem,
the kind that lingers long after the words are read.
And if love is a dream, then let me never wake,
because with you, every moment feels real.
