Your joy is a sunrise I have longed to see – golden beams spilling over the edges of your weary heart. I drench in the light of your relief, the way dreams once caged now stretch their wings in a boundless sky. I watch you rise, breathless with unfeigned delight, as the wind carries you toward the sky you’ve earned.

But love, even as I cheer your ascent, I feel the air grow thin between us. The quiet tug of gravity – the unspoken shift and errands – leaves a few weights now tied to my ankles, to keep our shared world spinning in those silent hours that are no longer ours.

Will the wind that lifts you be the one that leaves me holding down the earth? Will the path that led you here stretch the space between us? It makes me wonder if you’ll still glance earthward, and if you’ll remember how to land. 

So when you soar, leave me a thread of your joy, a ribbon of your light to braid into our daily bread. Even in this bittersweet tide, I’d like to choose your sky. And if I must learn to hold more, then let me also learn this: how to love you in the wild moments between your sky and my ground, so that even when the wind shifts its course, we navigate the dynamic landscape together, with your dreams in one hand and mine in the other, until we carve ourselves a new rhythm from the stars.

Between the whirlwind and the hush of maybe, when the world grows still for a brief moment, I imagine us at dusk on the ground: your hand finding mine, not with guilt, but with the quiet certainty of return. I picture the burdens we carry not as walls between us, but as stones we’ll one day lay together—building something sturdy enough to hold both your sky and my ground.

The sunset is not a promise, but a possibility—a horizon where your wings might still graze my fingertips, where the weight we share could become, simply, the way we love. Love ought to sparkle more vibrantly when the map fades—no paths, only footsteps!