there’s a kind of sorrow
that sits beside me,
quiet, tired,
like an old friend.

some evenings,
when the light turns gold
and your voice
drifts through the silence,
i almost forget
i was ever hurting.

My sweet love,
the mirror of my soul,
the calling of my heart.

The day we meet is so sweet
in my tormented mind.
How can I feel so much love
for someone I haven't met?
But I know, in my tired heart,
that you're somewhere out there —
maybe, just maybe,
wondering if I exist.

My sweet love,
the thought of you,
of us,
makes my suffering, broken heart
quiet down for the night,
like a baby coddled by their mother.

My mind runs soft reels
of your breath mingling with mine
as we lay to rest,
your keys left near my books,
the way your voice might sound
when you're half-asleep and safe.
That kind of life —
the quiet, ordinary kind —
lulls my storm to sleep.

The mirror of my soul,
are you searching for me
in the faces of new people?

The calling of my heart:
can you sleep a little lighter,
knowing I'm waiting for your arms?

I hope this poem reaches you —
a whisper in your sleep,
so you’ll know I’m already yours.