Reflection

Life moved forward. I was growing. Blooming.
And then, love found me.

He loved me for all that I was: my doubts, my dreams, my restless, nature.
But soon, too soon, his world cracked open.
Grief arrived, deep and disorienting.
And even though we were only just becoming “us,”
I chose to walk with him through it.

His pain became a mirror. Each mood swing, each silence,
each ache echoed through me.
And I had to ask myself:
What do I want? What will I hold? What am I willing to absorb?

So I returned to my hands. I cut, looped, twisted, layered.
This piece became our reflection.

Love is often mistaken for grand gestures or poetic words.
But real love is witnessing.
It’s standing beside someone, not just in their brightest moments, but in their darkest.
It’s being seen, entirely: The mundane. The terrible. The quiet. The broken.
It’s saying: your life will not go unnoticed, because I choose to notice it.
Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness.

And like light meeting a surface that does not absorb it bounces back, transformed.
A quiet act of love. A mirror. A reflection.