Even after the silence,
after the cold that lived in my bones,
after the nights that would not end,

it was still you.

Not the memory of you.
Not the idea of us.
But you.

The one my heart reaches for
without thinking.
The one my body remembers
like warmth after winter.

We broke in the wrong season,
lost in pride and pain,
yet love waited.

And when we found our way back,
it was not fireworks.
It was softer.
Stronger.

Your hand in mine,
steady this time.

Still you
when everything else fell apart.
Still you
when happiness returned.

Still you,
always.