I choose you… and the world goes quiet around that truth. Not softly. Not gently. But with the force of something carved into time itself—like thunder writing its name across the sky. I choose you in the blaze of mornings when everything begins again, when light spills like a promise across broken edges and restless thoughts. I choose you in the heavy hours too—the ones that drag their feet through doubt, where silence feels louder than words and distance pretends to have power it never truly holds. I choose you when it is easy to say, and I choose you when it costs something to say it out loud. Because this isn’t a passing feeling. It is not weather. It is not chance. It is gravity. It is the pull of one soul refusing to drift away from another, no matter how wide the night becomes. I choose your presence—not just the moments that shine, but the ones that tremble. I choose your heart—not only when it is steady, but when it is learning how to heal in real time. I choose the quiet spaces between your words, where truth hides and courage breathes. And I do not choose you lightly. I choose you like a vow written into bone and breath. Like fire that refuses to negotiate with wind. Like a horizon that keeps calling no matter how far you walk. If the world asked again— if time itself stood in front of me with endless alternatives— I would still turn back to you. Not once. Not twice. But endlessly. Because somewhere beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond every fragile argument the mind can build— there is this: you feel like home in a universe that never stops moving.
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