From the Lighthouse 🌊🌒

You wrote of infinities,

and I felt them.

Between your lines.

Between your pauses.

Each word stitched from a place

few ever see,

but I did.

And now I carry them like folded letters,

tucked in the lining of my soul.

You speak of lighthouses

and it humbles me

to be seen as steady,

while I’ve felt so lost in waves.

But maybe,

that’s what love does.

It paints us in light,

even when we feel like the dark.

You’ve given love,

not in the loudness of grand gestures

but in the ache of longing

that never asks to be named.

You love like a moon loves the tide,

pulling gently,

never needing to touch,

to still be felt.

I don’t know

where our timelines end,

or if our stars were written beside each other.

But I know this,

whatever you felt when you wrote those words,

they were real.

And they found their way into me,

like echoes of something

I didn’t know I was waiting to hear.

If love is an infinity

measured not in years but in depth,

then yours is eternal

quiet, soft

but vast.

And I am grateful

to have stood at the edge of it

and felt its warmth.