The Atlas Beneath My Sky

We were woven from the same thread, stitched into the seams of sunrise, unfolding hands like petals in spring, unaware of how light could fracture. Your laughter once carved rivers, made room for me to breathe here, a symphony beneath my chaos, a lighthouse at trembling edges. "Will you stay if I crumble?" you asked, your voice breaking gently. I carried the weight of your question, heavy as dusk holding back night. Love does not bargain with gravity, it plants roots even on jagged cliffs. "Always," I said, quiet as tides, "strength is our bridge, unbroken still." And in your shadow, I could rest again, your arms: the atlas beneath my sky.