Holding Your Name
It’s funny how a year slips by and you’re still the first thought in my head every morning.
I’ve grown used to your presence the way people grow used to breathing—quiet, constant, taken straight into the bloodstream.
Your accent still softens the edges of my fears, telling me it’s going to be okay.
You’re always there, refusing to let go, loving me in every way you know how, saying it until it sinks into the deepest part of me.
God, I feel it.
I’ve never felt devotion like this before.
You look at me like I’m more than human, something sacred, something worth worshipping.
It’s an addiction, and I don’t want the cure.
You’re pure ecstasy.
Your body, my pleasure.
Your mind, a treasure.
Your heart, the place I come home to.
I can feel how much you want to take care of me, and I still don’t know what to do with that—being held like I’m something precious.
But I understand it when I catch your smile, those small moments that become the photos in my memory.
You were always a gift to the world—
and I never want to stop unwrapping you.
I’m the spark burning through the paper, right down to your name…
the one I’m somehow still holding onto after all this time.
