Tell me,
What survives when love's blueprint cracks—
The *how* of her, the *why* of us,
The way her laughter rewrote my maps?
We built phone-call cathedrals,
Giggles echoing through graveyard shifts,
Boundaries drawn like chalk lines
Around hearts still clutching old caskets—
*I've been hurt* flashing neon between breaths.
Her voice, a tremor wrapped in steel:
*"I'm not tryna rush"*—yet here we kneel,
Two archaeologists brushing dust from *failed I love you's*,
Excavating trust from the ruins of *what was*.
She guides my hands when I color outside the lines,
Her touch a suture for wounds I didn't name.
We speak in asterisks now—
*Fresh air. Once-in-a-lifetime. God's strings.*
Her smile, a sunrise over battlefields.
**Love arrives like morning light**—
But we know its shadows: how it bleeds
When expectations dagger the dark,
How *perfect never dies* until it does.
We've worn empty grins like armor,
Buried real ones with the ghosts we've outrun.
Yet here, in the wreckage of *what should be*,
We plant gardens:
Her 154-pound frame, a monument to survival,
My chest no longer a museum of echoes.
We unlearn old languages, let *vulnerability*
Become our mother tongue.
**We set boundaries. Draw lines. Break them.**
Hearts are anarchists, rebellions pulsing
Against the *silent thieves* of *how love ought to be*.
Her resilience—tough as nails, soft as dawn—
Teaches me: *better broken than never whole*.
She is the prayer I choked on,
Now a psalm humming through my veins:
*Warrior. Healer. Laugh that rings bells.*
When she says *"future mother,"* I hear
*"Here, the scars become seeds."*
**Can you feel it?**
This alchemy of *almost* and *after*—
God's hands threading our fractures with gold,
Making mosaics from the blood we've cried.
I'll risk the bleed again, again, again...
For the velvet of her *"once in a lifetime,"*
For the way our shattered hymns
Still rise—
*Resilient. Unfinished. Ours.*
