You have carried too much,

worn the weight of the world

like armor that does not fit.

But love, you were never meant to bend like this,

never meant to wear your own heart

like a wound you cannot hide.

Come—

let me be the hands that lift you,

the voice that reminds you of your fire.

Let me be the wind

that clears the ash from your shoulders,

the warmth that turns your trembling

back into strength.

You are not made of what has broken you.

You are not the echoes of your doubt.

You are the storm before it rises,

the mountain before it moves,

the light I have built my world around.

And when you forget,

when the night settles too heavy

on your ribs,

I will be here—

gathering every fallen piece,

placing them back into your hands,

whispering,

LOOK HOW STRONG YOU STILL ARE.