When Morning

I opened my eyes

and you were already looking,

that quiet kind of gaze

that doesn’t ask for anything,

it just gives.

The light bent itself across your shoulders,

like it knew where to belong.

Coffee hadn’t even touched my lips

and already I felt the day steadying.

Strange, isn’t it,

how love can build a room

inside your chest,

big enough to carry both of us.

But then,

there’s always a turn,

a hinge that swings the whole thing wider.

I thought of the distance we sometimes drag,

the unspoken weight between your laugh and mine,

and realized:

even shadows fall only where light dares to reach.

And maybe that’s the work of it,

to let the cracks show,

to stand inside them together

without flinching.

By the time you touched my hand

the air had shifted again.

The morning wasn’t perfect,

it didn’t need to be.

It was alive,

it was ours,

and that was enough

to keep breathing a little deeper,

to move forward without needing a reason.