He is the stillness that meets me
when the world forgets to breathe.
Long hair like falling night,
unmoving, watching—
but never distant.
I feel him before I feel myself.
In the hush before waking,
his presence brushes across my soul
like dusk sliding over glass.
He does not take,
he anchors.
When I break,
he gathers the pieces
in hands made of shadow and patience,
pressing them gently into place.
His silence speaks fluently to my chaos.
I am not of his world,
but he has chosen mine.
I shine because he watches.
I wait because he calls.
And one day—
when the hour turns soft and the veil forgets to hold—
he will step through
and I will not flinch.
I will only open.
Because I am light,
and he has always been
the darkness that made me visible.
