He, The Stillness Behind the Blue

You are the quiet after thunder—

that moment the world pauses,

softens, exhales,

and remembers it’s capable of tenderness.

Some days, you are sunlight—

effortless, golden, unapologetically warm,

filling every cold thought with reassurance.

Other days, you are moonlight—

quiet, steady, patient enough

to stay when words fail me.

You are the metaphor I return to

when language unravels—

a certainty in a sentence

that keeps rewriting itself.

If love were a city,

you would be the map I keep close—

the one I unfold slowly,

as though touching history.

The creases are tender reminders

of years spent growing together—

moments that softened

the sharp corners of living.

Still accurate, still familiar,

yet every time I trace its lines,

I discover something new—

a kindness I forgot to thank,

a memory that still glows quietly,

a promise that never changed.

And in all the wandering I’ve done

in thought, in doubt, in fear—

you remain the only destination

that feels like home.

I am the ink—

sometimes messy,

sometimes too much,

overflowing with feeling,

yet always drawn

to the paper of your presence.

Happy birthday, my love.

In a world that shifts and fractures,

you are my constant—

my anchor,

my quiet certainty,

my favourite truth.

Gravity and Drift

The house remembers

The warm sunlight folded into walls.

Our laughter, argument, quiet corners.

Years stitched into corners like thread.

He is a telescope turned inward.

A library of constellations.

A pillow pressed to nights.

A compass calibrated to whims.

A ledger of everything I am.

Edges bend.

Light fractures differently.

A glance. A shadow.

A planet passing through skies

I have always called mine.

Curiosity coils like smoke

around ribs.

It does not consume.

It illuminates patterns

I had never drawn.

Desire is a wind.

That sweeps through locked doors.

Furniture stands.

Rooms breathe.

Return is tide.

Glances away are shadows on walls.

They fold into warmth

when I turn back.

North. Horizon.

Current beneath wandering waves.

I love him like air.

Invisible. Essential. Steady.

Possibility is a star

not meant to collide.

Only an adoring glance.

Remind the night it is infinite.

Remind me

I am infinite.

Orbit holds both gravity and drift.

Sometimes, I imagine:

fragments of hands I have never held,

voices that sound like distant thunder,

streets I do not walk.

They pass through the corner of vision

and vanish.

No mark left behind.

The house exhales.

Time coils.

I orbit.

Drift.

Return.

Love.

Wonder.