Home Is Where You Are

Only with you, the walls feel like more than walls—

they breathe, they listen, they hold.

The cold stays outside, tapping at the window,

but in here, I am warm.

Do I dare to turn the heating on?

Or is it enough, this quiet fire between us?

You build me shelter, not just of wood and stone,

but of steady hands and steady love.

When I retreat from the world, you step forward,

shoulders squared, eyes clear.

And when your breath comes fast and unsteady,

I hold it for you—until you're ready to take it back.

So much of the road ahead is unwritten,

and the unknown hums like a storm on the horizon.

Some nights, it drowns me—

waves of worry, echoes of doubt—

but when the flood rises,

I already know where to run.

To you.

To us.

To firm ground.

Let the quiet weight of your arms around me

smooth out the creases of the past.

If I have ever left love unspoken,

let me fill the silence now,

with a song you already know by heart.

Because when so much of what's ahead

is unbearably unknown,

at least this—

this—

is something I know for sure.