I have walked through rooms of borrowed light,
each doorway folded like a secret map,
holding hands with shadows that learned my name
but never learned the shape beneath my skin.
Love has been a weathered coin in my palm
flawed, cheapened, tossed and called unlucky,
promises like paper boats that sank
before the river learned my sorrow’s weight.
I am tired of half-arranged houses: smiles that fit
only when I soften, laughter that leans away
from the corners where my true edges live.
I have offered whole songs and been given echoes.
So I am looking for someone who will keep me
not as a souvenir but as a sunrise—
someone who reads the margins of my silences
and finds the sentences I dared not write.
Take me with my sunburned hopes and my winter-thoughts,
the messy prayers I fold into pockets,
the stubborn sins and small mercies I own
accept the cluttered rooms, the honest faults.
I want the old-fashioned kind: letters pressed to bone,
dawn-lit hands that do not let go,
a quiet covenant carved into ordinary days,
a laughter that stitches wounds into light.
I have spent what feels like forever counting footsteps
on roads that circled back to empty doors;
my patience is a patient smith who waits
to forge a clasp that will not break with years.
If you come, let us wear time like matching rings
let us promise not a heartbeat but a forever,
not the brittle gold of passing fashion
but the metal that tempers in both storm and calm.
Find me soon, as if the world itself leans in
I will bring everything that I am, unruly and bright,
and we will build, with hands that remember how,
a love that outlives any single life.