The world that he created for me.
A realm stitched from stardust and sleepy smiles,
where time slows when he speaks,
and reality bends gently around his touch.
He is the moonlight in my windowsill,
the reason flowers lean toward dawn.
With him, even silence hums like a lullaby.
And in his gaze,
I found galaxies that called me home.
So yes—
I'm in my own world.
One created not with bricks or maps or locked doors, but with glances that softened the air,
words that stitched stars into my silence,
and hands that held me like I was made of moonlight.
In this world, the rules are different.
Time slows when he smiles,
gravity forgets me when he laughs.
The storms inside my mind hush themselves
at the sound of his voice.
Here, I am barefoot in a garden that only blooms when I’m happy.
He planted each petal with patience —
even the ones that bloomed from my sorrow.
He never asked me to hide the shadows.
He danced with them,
naming each one beautiful
until they stopped fearing the light.
He built this world not for the girl I used to be,
but for the woman I dared to become
only because he believed I could.
And oh, he makes the ordinary feel like folklore.
Mornings taste like honey when he's near.
My dreams carry his name in every echo.
The stars seem to bend closer when he pulls me in.
Even silence becomes a language between us,
filled with unspoken tenderness.
He doesn't rescue me from reality.
He just makes it so beautiful,
I never feel the need to escape.
So yes—
I’m in my own world.
A world drawn in golden light,
anchored in the warmth of his soul,
and wrapped in the wonder of love
that feels like coming home to a place I didn’t know I was missing
until he built it for me.
