Echoes Between Us

I barely tell you
 what I feel,

a storm folded into silence,


a thousand unsent confessions
resting beneath my tongue,


afraid their weight might break
the fragile distance between us,


afraid their intensity
 might ask too much of you.

Yet still,

they bloom.

In the quiet hours,


when the world softens its edges,


I find myself unraveling,


thread by thread,


until every road of thought,


every wandering dream,


every unanswered question
returns to you.

And all I can see is you.

You are something else,


a paradox of fire and calm,


a constellation disguised as a person,


the kind of presence
 that alters the shape of a life
 without ever asking permission.

I follow you everywhere,


through seasons of certainty
 and winters of doubt,


through distances measured
 not in miles,


but in longing.

No matter what.

Because home is where you are,


not a place,


not four walls,


not a name on a map,

but the quiet recognition
of belonging.

And if I have ever belonged anywhere,


it has been in the light of your existence,


in the space your soul creates,


in the gravity of your being.

Home is where you are.

And wherever you are,

that is where I belong.