Oh, My Beloved
Oh, my beloved,
you arrive quietly—
like dusk folding gold into blue,
like a secret the sky tells the sea
and trusts it to keep.
You are not thunder.
You are gravity.
The steady pull that keeps my scattered atoms
from drifting into the cold.
When you laugh,
it is not noise but architecture—
something inside me rearranges,
walls move, windows open,
light steps in without asking permission.
The world is a strange laboratory,
full of collisions and sparks,
but with you
even chaos bends toward meaning.
Entropy pauses.
Time forgets to rush.
Oh, my beloved,
if love is a hypothesis,
then you are the evidence—
repeated, observable, undeniable.
Not perfect. Not myth.
Simply real.
Stay as you are—
unafraid of storms,
soft with the wounded parts of me,
steady as the tide that returns
no matter how far it travels.
And if the night grows heavy,
remember this:
I would choose you
in every universe that physics permits—
and in a few it doesn’t.
