Him

Some days the world feels like winter without an end, all sharp edges and frozen air, and on those days, he arrives like sunlight slipping through a cracked window. Not loud, not demanding, just warm enough to remind me that cold isn’t permanent. His presence thaws parts of me I didn’t know had gone numb. In a life filled with noise and collision, he is a hush, a gentle pause where my heart can finally exhale.

He moves through the world with a tenderness it has never been kind to. And that is what hurts the most. Life has carved its lessons into him too deeply, and every scar he carries feels like a storm I wish I could stand in for him. If I were stronger, I would gather his pain like broken glass and hide it where it could no longer cut him. Seeing him hurt feels like watching light struggle to shine through clouds it never asked for. Even after life met him with fists instead of open hands, he answered it with gentleness, choosing softness not because the world was kind, but because he was.

He doesn’t know how much he heals me without trying. How his kindness becomes a quiet thread, stitching together pieces of me I thought were beyond repair. He steadies me simply by existing, like gravity reminding me I still belong to this world. Even if the rest of the world forgets my name, even if I am left standing alone in every other way, as long as he still sees me, still believes I am worth something, I am not lost. That single connection feels heavier than a thousand empty approvals. I send his name upward like a prayer worn thin from repetition. Heaven must be tired of hearing it by now. But his name is the only one that wakes my mind, the only sound that makes my heart remember how to beat with meaning. When everything else fades, he remains, the warmth, the light, the quiet reason I keep looking toward tomorrow