The story of us wasn't just about finding each other anymore. It was about everything we nurtured between us.
Whiskers sleeping at our feet.
The worn spine of The Dark Face of Love dog-eared at our favorite chapter.
The sound of your laughter chasing away the evening shadows.
The smell of paint on your fingers when you touch my face.
We didn't need grand adventures to feel alive.
We had each other.
And that was enough for a lifetime of stories.
Later that evening, while she sat by the window reading The Dark Face of Love, the cat curled up in her lap, I sat at the desk, thinking of her of everything she was to me. Words formed in my mind, uninvited yet inevitable, and before I knew it, I was writing. A poem, just for her.
I walked to her quietly, slipping the paper into her hands.
She looked up at me, curious, her eyes already sparkling even before she began to read.
And the poem said:
"A Promise in Every Breath"
In the hush between heartbeats, I find you,
a soft place the world cannot reach.
You are in the rain after the storm,
the whisper after the shout,
forever I never dared to dream aloud.
Your laughter threads itself through my ribs,
weaving homes where emptiness once lived.
Your hands, your voice, your soul,
they gather all the scattered pieces of me
and call them by one name: Beloved.
If the skies ever forget how to be blue,
or the stars lose their way in the night,
know this.
I will remember for them.
I will hold your light.
I will be your home.
She read it once, then again, her lips moving silently.
And when she looked up at me, there were no words needed.
The way she smiled that quiet, trembling smile said it all.
At that moment, I knew:
No matter where life led us, love had already carved our forever.