Second Bloom

I had folded my heart away,  
tucked it in silence,
as one tucks a fragile letter
into the back of a drawer.

I told myself,
Love had had its turn.

that the music was over,

that the dance was done.

But then you appeared,

not with thunder,

not with the rush of storms,

but with the quiet certainty

of morning light.

You did not ask me to forget

the shadows I carried.

You simply stood beside them

until they no longer frightened me.

Your laughter stirred something

I thought I had long since turned to stone.

Your touch did not demand.

It invited.

And in that invitation,

I felt my walls soften,

brick by brick,

until even the ruins of old love

looked like the foundation

for something new.

This second chance is not a return

to what was lost,

but a tender beginning,

a softer unfolding,

the kind that grows from patience

and the courage to believe again.

To love you now

is not to erase the past,

but to honour it.

To know what pain taught me,

yet still choose your hand in mine.

And if the heart is a garden,

then you are the bloom

I never thought I would rise again.

So, let the world say love is fickle.

It only knocks once.

I know better.

For here you are,

and here I am,

ready to begin,

not as if it were the first time!