[draumaheimur]

i fall in love the way old songs do, quietly, between piano keys and unsent letters. i romanticize the small things: hands brushing, shared silence, the kind of love that feels like home before it ever feels like forever. i don’t love loudly. i love softly, like a melody meant only for those who listen closely.

[draumaheimur]

handled gently, like something that still remembers love.

[draumaheimur]

i learned how to hold myself together.

[draumaheimur]

even in rest, we reach for each other.

[draumaheimur]

rest feels holy when the world asks too much.

[draumaheimur]

i hide where tenderness still feels safe.

[draumaheimur]

i was made carefully, so i learned to break quietly.

[draumaheimur]

i learned devotion before i learned love.

[draumaheimur]

[draumaheimur]

and when the light found me, it didn’t stay, but it reminded me i was still here.

[draumaheimur]

i became careful with my heart, like porcelain learning how to crack.

[draumaheimur]

so i laid myself down in the quiet, pretending the ache was rest. i carry my longing softly, like a song only i can hear.

[draumaheimur]

i learned tenderness from things that couldn’t stay.

[draumaheimur]

i miss a place i’ve never been.