The Promise

I start with a vow only the heart can make,

unwritten,

but felt in the pulse between our palms.

You look at me as if time itself pauses

to listen for what I might say next,

and I almost do,

but some things are better spoken through silence.

Your eyes hold entire constellations,

not the kind that live above,

but the ones stitched inside the soul.

I’ve wandered through lifetimes,

through half-remembered dreams,

and every path I took

seemed to end with your breath close to mine.

The world exhales,

and I realize,

love isn’t a promise carved into stone,

it’s alive, moving,

changing shape to match the storm.

It’s in the way we stay,

not because we must,

but because leaving would feel

like losing air itself.

I don’t need grand declarations,

or stars to swear upon,

only the steady truth of your hand in mine.

If tomorrow forgets our names,

the universe will still remember

how we found each other

in a world too vast to meet by chance.

And that,

that will be enough.