your shoulder under my cheek
when the world feels too much
(and somehow, it never is
when you’re near).
It’s your voice,
low and certain,
when I am full of questions.
It’s the way your hands
have memorised the shape of our days;
The quiet gestures,
The rhythm of small things,
the look across the room.
It’s the steady weight of your body beside mine
at the end of another long day;
the stillness
you bring
into every storm.
This is the love I come home to;
This is the love that made me a mother,
without ever letting me forget
I was yours first.
By Alice Karayianni
