When Hearts Refuse to Die

From Ashes to Heartbeats

I was dust in the dark,

a name the wind forgot,

a song unsung in the ruin of days—

and then you breathed.

Like thunder waking stone,

like light cracking a sealed tomb,

you spoke,

and silence shattered.

My heart—

long buried under wars I lost

and echoes I feared to remember—

rose with yours.

You didn’t kiss me like I was broken.

You kissed me like I’d **never died**.

Like every scar had been a path

leading straight to your hands.

I had folded into shadow,

a ghost in skin,

drifting through empty springs—

but you made seasons bloom in my blood.

No slow unraveling,

no whispered rebirth.

You loved me with the force

of a lightning storm

and the grace of dawn

pulling stars from the sky.

We are not gentle, you and I.

We are **wildfire reborn** into flesh and flame,

crashing through the veil

that dared say we were finished.

You didn’t save me.

You **remade** me.

Bone by vow,

touch by truth.

I rise,

not as I was—

but as I am,

because you believed

a dead heart could still learn to dance.

And now,

in this burning life

we built from ashes and audacity,

I love you—

with all the breath

I never thought I’d have again.