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Between Heartbeats

 Between Heartbeats

I.
In the quiet before dawn,
your name arrives
like sunlight spilling across still water,
gentle yet insistent,
turning ordinary moments
into something sacred.
I feel it in the hollow of my chest,
a pulse that trembles
with the memory of you,
and even before I see your face,
I know the world has shifted
toward your light.

There is a language
in the brush of your fingers,
in the tilt of your head,
in the pause before your laughter—
a grammar written
not in words,
but in the spaces between them.
I have learned to read it,
to trace its curves with my eyes,
with my mind,
with the quiet reverence
of someone discovering
a new continent
within another’s soul.

II.
Love is not always fire.
Sometimes it is the slow bloom of morning,
the way sunlight gathers
in quiet corners,
or the hush of wind
in a room that remembers nothing else.
You are that light—
gentle, persistent, unassuming,
yet capable of changing everything
simply by existing.
I have traced the outline of your smile
in memory and dream alike,
and each time I do,
I discover new constellations
hidden in the spaces
between your lips and eyes.

I remember the first time
our hands brushed—
so ordinary, so fleeting—
and yet the world shifted.
I traced the lines of your palm
as though they were maps
to lands I had never known,
and in that touch
I found a geography
that belongs entirely to us.

III.
Your voice is a river
that flows through my veins,
sometimes roaring, sometimes still,
but always shaping
the landscape of my being.
Even when you are absent,
I carry its current within me,
guiding me
toward the orbit of your presence,
pulling me gently, insistently,
until the world itself
bends around the memory of you.

I have loved the curve of your laughter,
the quiet strength of your gaze,
the way you exist
without apology,
without seeking permission
from a world that does not yet understand
the gravity you carry.
In every sigh, every glance,
I find a universe
woven just for us—
an atlas of fleeting moments
that endure beyond time.

IV.
A kiss is not merely touch.
It is a declaration, a prayer,
a communion of two hearts
folding into one.
When our lips meet,
the world pauses,
and for that breath,
everything becomes infinite.
It is proof
that love exists not only in grand gestures,
but in the quiet, fierce insistence
of presence,
of connection,
of two souls recognizing
their reflection in one another.

Even in distance, even in absence,
I carry you in the curve of the horizon,
in the hush of night,
in the pulse beneath my ribs.
You are the constant
that shapes me,
the quiet insistence
that love, like light,
cannot be contained,
cannot be diminished,
cannot fade.

V.
I will love you
in the sunlight catching your hair,
in the laughter spilling through empty streets,
in the pauses before sleep,
in every breath shared
and every one taken alone,
because you are not just part of my life—
you are its center,
its gravity, its axis.
And in this love,
I have found home,
I have found eternity,
I have found
you.

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