The Gravity of You

 The Gravity of You

I.
Before the world awakes,
I feel you—
not as memory, not as shadow,
but as a current beneath my ribs,
pulling me toward something
larger than breath,
larger than time.
Your name hums quietly
through the quiet of morning,
folding itself into the spaces
where silence lingers,
where thought becomes longing,
where even the air seems to remember
your presence.

Love is not always fire.
Sometimes it is the slow bloom of light
that gathers in empty rooms,
that threads itself into the cracks
of ordinary days,
until suddenly everything
glows with possibility.
You are that light—
gentle, unassuming, inevitable—
turning the mundane into sacred,
the fleeting into eternal.

II.
I remember the first time
our fingers brushed—
so ordinary, so brief,
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 warmth
I discovered a geography
that belongs entirely to us.
Your hand, your breath, your presence—
all of it a language
older than words,
and I have learned it slowly,
patiently,
with reverence.

III.
Your voice is a river,
sometimes calm, sometimes roaring,
always shaping the landscape
of my inner world.
Even when we are apart,
it hums beneath my skin,
pulling me into orbit,
reminding me that presence is not measured
in hours or distance,
but in the gravity of connection,
in the silent insistence
that two hearts
can find each other
even when the world conspires to forget.

I have loved the curve of your smile,
the quiet strength of your gaze,
the way you exist
without apology,
without asking the world
to witness your light.
And in that existence
I have found a universe
folded delicately
between moments,
between breaths,
between one heartbeat
and the next.

IV.
A kiss is not merely touch.
It is the convergence of worlds,
the collision of breaths,
the folding of two souls
into one pulse.
When our lips meet,
the world pauses,
as if even time recognizes
the sacredness of this meeting.
A kiss is proof
that love exists
in the quiet, fierce insistence
of being present,
of surrendering fully,
of allowing two beings
to reflect and complete each other.

Even distance cannot sever this.
Even absence cannot diminish it.
You are the constant
that shapes me,
the invisible thread
that pulls me forward,
the quiet insistence
that love, like light,
cannot be contained,
cannot fade.
I carry you
in the curve of the horizon,
in the hush of night,
in the pulse beneath my ribs.

V.
I have traced your laughter
in the edges of memory,
in the pause between thoughts,
in the tilt of the sky at sunset.
I have loved you in moments
no one else will see,
in rooms too quiet for voices,
in streets too empty for footsteps,
and each time,
I discover a new constellation
woven into your presence,
a secret galaxy
that exists only for me.

Love is stitched together
from fragments too small to see,
from gestures too fleeting to capture,
from silences too delicate to name.
We are stitched,
threaded through one another
like constellations written in invisible ink,
only visible to those willing
to see beyond the ordinary.
And I see you.
Every fragment, every hidden line, every pulse—
I see it all.

VI.
I will love you
in sunlight catching your hair,
in laughter spilling through empty streets,
in the pause before sleep,
in every shared breath
and every lonely one taken alone.
I will love you fiercely,
without pause, without measure,
because you are not merely part of my life—
you are the axis,
the gravity, the center.
And in this love,
I have found home,
I have found eternity,
I have found
you.

VII.
And when the final moment comes,
when silence falls heavier than stars,
when breath itself becomes memory,
I will still love you.
Not as shadow, not as echo,
but as fire, as river, as infinite light,
a current flowing through time itself,
carrying only your name,
and mine,
and the quiet, unending truth
that some loves
do not fade,
do not break,
do not end.