the Architect of Storms
If the world were to end tonight, crumbling into the ocean like a castle of salt, I would not look at the sky falling. I would not watch the stars burn out one by one.
I would be looking at you.
Because you are the only thing that has ever made sense in a life that is otherwise just noise and static. Before you, I was a ghost walking through walls, untouched, unbothered, and entirely cold. Then you happened.
You didn’t just knock on the door; you tore the roof off. You flooded the hallways with light so blinding I had to learn how to see all over again. You are not a gentle breeze, my love. You are the architect of storms, the beautiful chaos that rearranged my soul into a shape that finally fits a beating heart.
They talk about love like it is soft, like it is quiet evenings and easy laughter. And it is. But it is also this: It is the way my breath catches when you walk into a room, a sudden, sharp reminder that I am alive only because you are here to witness it.
I promise you this, with the gravity of a man who has nothing left to hide: I will love you when the days are golden, and I will love you when the shadows are long. I will stand between you and the dark, not as a shield, but as a witness to your light.
You are the beginning of every story I want to tell, and the only ending I will ever accept…
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