You say you don’t read much.
But somehow, you always read me.
And maybe, without knowing,
You taught me how to bleed through the pen,
To shape silence into syllables,
To hold space for feeling,
Even when the world is loud.
So tonight,
As night settles in a robe of velvet quiet,
I write not to ask, nor to explain,
But to bless you, softly.
When the night folds her arms around the sky,
And the stars murmur lullabies in silver tongues,
May your burdens loosen,
May your spirit stretch.
For even the moon, full in her glow,
Knows the ache of holding light too long.
Rest, love.
Lay down the weight of unspoken things.
Let dreams drift in like gentle winds
Through the windows of your mind.
Don’t dwell,
Not on what didn’t grow,
Not on what wasn’t said.
Just sleep.
And let this be the lull in the poem of your life,
The stanza where you exhale.
Goodnight, beloved.
Goodnight.
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