Tell me,
not in whispers that vanish like smoke,
but in the voice your soul has guarded for years—
what does love feel like when it finally fits?

Is it a quiet dawn,
where trust rises slowly,
soft as light spilling through your window?

Or is it a wildfire,
burning away doubt,
leaving only truth in its glow?

Do you dream of arms that hold without chains,
words that heal without weight,
a presence that listens
until silence feels safe again?

I will not carve you into my shape,
nor press my will upon your sky.
I will be the rain when you thirst,
the hush of waves when your heart needs calm,

the warmth in winter’s silence,
the echo that answers your call
without asking for anything in return.

Show me your map,
your hidden roads,
the places where love has been lost before—
I will walk them with bare feet,
gentle, patient,
until the ground remembers what tenderness feels like.

If laughter is your language,
I will speak in echoes of sunlight.
If strength is your shelter,
I will stand like a mountain,
steady, unshaken,
yet never closing the sky above you.

No guilt.
No shame.
No shadow of demand.

Only the promise:
to love you in the way you choose,
to give without taking,
to honor the shape of your heart
as if it were the only truth I’ve ever known.

And if your voice trembles,
I will wait.

If your walls rise,
I will not tear them down—

I will stand outside,
quiet as a prayer,
until you open the door
because you want to,
not because you must.

For love is not conquest.
It is consent.
It is care without condition,
a vow without chains,
a home built from listening,
where your soul can breathe
and finally say:
This is what I needed.

This is mine.

Not as a shadow.
Not as a storm.

Only as the light you asked for.