Spring Light Between Us

There’s something sacred about beginnings —

the way they ask you to trust warmth again after a long cold season.

Spring light doesn’t rush;

it unfolds slowly, spilling over what was once bare,

touching the places that forgot how to bloom.

That’s how it feels between us lately —

like the sun remembering where to fall,

like love learning how to breathe again after silence.

We’ve been through our winters,

and still, you look at me as if you can see every new petal before it opens.

It’s not the fire of first love that moves me now,

but the quiet devotion that returns after everything.

Love, in its truest form, is seasonal —

it softens, deepens, becomes something rooted.

And here, in this gentle light,

I’m reminded that renewal doesn’t always roar —

sometimes it whispers, I’m still here.

🕯 Every spring begins the same way —

with two hearts remembering how to turn toward the light.