Without Asking

I did not ask the sky to open

yet it gave me light,

as you gave me love

without permission,

without needing anything in return.

I was a quiet place —

a field left fallow too long —

but your voice,

soft as spring rain,

taught the soil how to feel again.

You did not rush in with grand promises.

You arrived like morning —

slow and certain,

painting warmth on all the cold corners

I forgot I had.

In your arms,

the world stops auditioning for my attention.

Time folds gently,

and I am just here —

not fixing, not fleeing, just *being.*

You are not the answer to every question I had,

but the reason I stopped needing them.

You didn’t save me —

you reminded me I was never lost.

And that is love —

not thunder, not flame,

but the patient hand that stays

even when the room goes dark.