November

Loving her feels like standing on the edge of something eternal — something too big for language, too quiet for the world to notice, but loud enough to shake the inside of my chest. She is not just someone I love; she is the place I return to in my thoughts when the world feels too much. When I speak about her, I’m not describing a person — I’m describing a feeling, a storm, a calm, a kind of gravity that keeps me from drifting too far from myself. And still, there’s a heaviness to it — not because she weighs me down, but because loving her makes everything matter more. The days without her feel longer, the silence feels deeper, and my heart carries her name like a sacred rhythm. This love isn’t light — it’s full, it’s real, and it teaches me what it means to belong to someone without ever owning them.