In the quiet of our hearts,
where the shadows hold our secrets,
I feel her touch,
tracing the scars of our stories,
mapping the
constellations
woven into our skin—
the universe conspiring,
whispering truths we’ve long
forgotten.
We are not just observers;
we are the keepers of tender hopes,
nurturing thoughts like fragile blooms,
each one a promise,
a breath caught in the stillness,
waiting to unfurl in the light,
a heartbeat echoing
through the corridors of our souls.
I shiver under the weight
of this endless journey,
where endings are merely doorways,
and in every shadow,
a spark of light flickers,
the way we shed our pasts,
embracing the cycle,
the gentle sway
between night and day.
In the pulse of our connected hearts,
we are reborn,
the echoes of who we were
intertwined with who we’ll be,
lovers hidden in the twilight,
bound by threads of silence,
in this sacred space,
we discover our true selves,
held close in the arms of our humanity,
the cosmos
nestled in our palms,
waiting for
the dawn of clarity,
like a whisper aching to
break free.