Quila_Luna
I was small, the world too big, but he was always there-
a hand stretched out, a laugh that made me feel safe.
He spoke softly,like my name was a secret treasure, like every word could mend the cracks I didn't know I had.
I followed him with wide eyes, believing in a magic he didn't even know he gave me.
He let me climb on his shoulder, let me peek at the skies he painted,held my childhood in the warmth of his older smile.
I didn't know then that love could start in quiet, in simple sweetness, that a boy who held my sun could become the reason my heart learned to bloom.
I remember him-not the man he became, but the boy I thought was magic, older than my world,gentle in ways I couldn't name.
He held my small hand like it was the only thing worth holding, lifted me to see the stars before I even knew how to wish.
His laughter was a soft sun that warmed the edges of my childhood. I remember tracing the curve of his smile,
the quiet way he let me speak, the patience in his eyes
as if he knew the storms I hadn't yet learned to weather.
And now, years later, I can still hear that voice in the silence of my grown-up rooms, still feel the ghost of his warmth
on nights that feel too long, and wonder if he ever knew
how much his gentle older hands shaped the girl I became.
There's sweetness in that memory,
but also a sting- because time moves, people change, and the boy who held my sun is just a shadow in my chest
that I carry like a secret ache.