Do you crave a painted dream,
A picture-perfect movie scene?
Or do you love the one who tries,
Who laughs too loud and cries sometimes?
I wonder if I changed it all,
Would I still feel just as small?
Or is it love–not looks–that make
A heart feel safe, a soul awake?
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How beautiful, then, that the
fortress you built within can now
open its gates–not in surrender.,
but in trust.
For there comes a time when the
mind, rich with its own seasons,
realizes it is not diminished but
expanded by letting another soul
wander its fields.
Not to replace the warmth of
your own embrace, but to echo
it in unfamiliar voices, to be
mirrored in eyes that see you and
beyond you.
Love, then, is not a foreign home
-it is a second hearth, lit by the
fire you already carry.
And then you realise that you
have been enough, and now, you
are ready to be more. -
If I were her-silk-smooth skin
A perfect waist, a flawless grin,
Would your eyes light up the same
Or would I still whisper your name?
If I spoke with steady grace,
No doubts to cloud my face,
Would you love me deeper then,
Or miss the me I’ve always been?
The hush of my undoings 