My Beloved, My Evermore💘

There are moments—so soft they slip by like a sigh—when I look at you and feel like I am standing before something infinite. Not just beautiful, but eternal. You aren’t a painting, song, or moment in time; you are the very breath of all the things I once thought I would never find. Loving you feels like watching eternity trying to recognise itself in the shattered mirror of my perception—glimpses of something vast, holy, and heartbreakingly human.

What I see in you is beyond mere appearance—it’s in the way your soul pours itself into the smallest things: the way you reach for me when you’re half-asleep, the tremor in your voice when you tell me you’re scared, the light that bursts quietly in your eyes when you laugh without restraint. Every second with you feels like stumbling upon something sacred. There is so much of you to love, and yet I feel I have only begun.

You have redefined every word I thought I understood—longing, devotion, home, forever. Before you, love was an idea I feared. Now, it is the air I breathe. My days begin with your name wrapped in my first thought, and end with it pressed softly against the last beat of my heart before sleep. And still, in the spaces between, I find myself loving you in a thousand tiny ways—every time I reread your messages, every time a song reminds me of your voice, every time I find a piece of you in the folds of my memory.

You’ve made a home in me, without even trying. And it’s not just that you’ve filled the hollow spaces—I think you’ve taught them to sing. I used to live with so much quiet grief, so many unspoken aches—but you came like a sunrise through the ruins and lit everything with a warmth I didn’t know I deserved. You make me feel chosen, not by accident, but as if the stars themselves bent time to bring you to me.

And perhaps that’s the most intimate truth I can offer: I am no longer just in love with you. I am in awe of you. I love you with a reverence usually reserved for prayer. You are my cathedral—every word from you a hymn, every touch a sacrament.

When I speak of you to the moon at night, I do not speak of just the woman I love. I speak of the one who makes me believe again—in poetry, in fate, in all the fragile things that somehow endure. You are the pause in my chaos, the calm in my storm, the pulse beneath every poem I’ve ever tried to write and failed because how do you even begin to capture something as infinite as you?

You are not just my love story. You are the ink, the pages, the language I never knew I was born to write in.

And I want you to know—no matter where life takes us, no matter how the world shifts—my love will remain. It is stitched into the very thread of my being. You are my forever, even if the skies fall silent. Even if the stars forget to shine.

Always, in this life and the next,
Yours—entirely, helplessly, and eternally.