Ember

Potrait By Luca Ponsato

Ember

We learned the language of weather

before we ever spoke of calm,

how thunder can sit in a chest

and still leave room for a whisper.

The world handed us tangled hours,

knots of days that wouldn’t loosen,

yet somehow our hands found each other

like two sparks refusing to die in the rain.

We did not arrive as something gentle,

we arrived like a storm learning to breathe,

like light breaking through a stubborn sky

that never planned to clear.

There were nights that leaned too heavy,

where even silence felt crowded,

but in that weight, something held,

not fragile, not loud, just certain.

Maybe we were never meant to be easy,

but we were meant to be real,

two restless tides colliding

and calling it home anyway.

And if everything burns around us,

if the dark keeps asking for more,

we will answer in our own way,

not by fading,

but by learning how to glow together.

Then came the quiet battles no one could name,

where even holding on felt like a quiet rebellion,

yet in the middle of all that noise,

something in us refused to break.

Maybe we were never meant to be simple,

but somehow, through all the weight and wildness,

we became that rare kind of constant,

the kind that stays, even when everything else doesn’t.