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.
