Written in Her Own Story
the kind that writes songs
out of hunger and sleepless nights
that turns rain into slow motion
and makes the whole world pause
between one breath and the next
just before their lips meet.
The kind of love
that moves mountains without trying
that throws sparks against the dark
and calls them stars
The kind that says forever
and means it even
when life becomes difficult, sharp-edged, heavy.
Where she becomes his oxygen
his first thought in the quiet morning
his last prayer before sleep
the name his heart reaches for
without asking permission.
Can she have that love
the kind that blurs the noise of the world
that feels like running barefoot
through fields of wildflowers
with the sun warming her skin
while storm clouds gather somewhere far away.
The kind that breaks her open
and heals her in the same breath
That gently traces the scars
hidden beneath her ribs
loving every fractured part
until she no longer calls herself broken.
The kind that whispers, I am here
when the night is cold and endless
A love that does not dim with time
but deepens
softly, steadily
with every passing day.
The kind she believed
could only live inside stories,
until one day
she finds it
written into her own.
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