Yours , ALWAYS

I walk these streets, half-dreaming, half-lost, A soul bound in chains—yet willingly so. Not prison, not fate, but love that holds, A weight I carry with quiet devotion. Others pass, their eyes searching, pleading, But what is their warmth against your fire? What is their laughter against the echoes Of your voice, still haunting my every thought? Maybe I’m too busy being yours, Too wrapped in the gravity of your name, Too lost in the ghost of your touch To ever stumble into someone new.