A Sanctuary in Your Quiet

I did not love you for the grand storms
or the roaring declarations of youth;
I loved you for the calm cadence
with which you turned the pages of my silence.

When the world outside grew too loud to breathe,
your palm was an anchor,
your breathing a steady bell
ringing in the harbor of midnight.

To be loved like this is to understand
that home is never four walls and timber,
but a quiet presence across the table
that looks at your fractured pieces
and sees only sunlight coming through.