Arrived like a whisper—
not loud,
not demanding,
just… there.
In the ruins where echoes lingered,
he found space to build.

The walls were cracked
from storms he didn’t weather,
but he patched them
as if he’d been there
from the first drop of rain.

She was a flicker—
once wildfire, now smoke.
He didn’t chase her flames;
he sheltered the ash,
patient with the spark
still learning to trust the wind again.

He walked with
shadows that were fading,
listened to silence
as though it spoke volumes.
He carried what others had dropped—
not for praise,
but because it was needed.

He never claimed the ground he walked on.
Never asked for banners or a parade.
Just held the pieces
until they fit something whole again.

When tired eyes looked his way,
words didn’t have to be spoken.
He answered in action,
in presence,
in the kind of love
that doesn’t ask to be seen.
It just is.