My beloved yellow
My Beloved, My Yellow
There are feelings too sacred
for language to hold.
Perhaps that's why,
long before love had a name,
yellow became my heart's first devotion.
I never questioned
why my heart
always reached
for yellow.
Perhaps
my soul had always known
what my heart
had yet to discover.
Little by little,
every shade of yellow
grew to resemble
the gentleness
of you.
It is the light
that lingers after dawn,
the quiet solace
found beneath an endless sky,
the gentleness
that asks for nothing,
yet gives everything—
the quiet miracle
hidden within every shade of yellow.
Somewhere
between silence
and golden light,
my heart
found its way
to yours—
as flowers
lean toward light,
as rivers find the sea,
as the moon
keeps its promise
to the night.
They call it love
when hearts
learn to let go.
Yet my heart
has never understood
why love
must loosen
the very hands
it longs to hold.
Perhaps love
was never meant
to be possessed,
but only to be cherished—
cherished like sunlight
peeking through the trees in summer,
like a flower blooming quietly,
admired but never plucked,
like a butterfly resting beneath the sky,
admired but never captured,
cherished like an artist
holds his muse within his heart—
not to own its beauty,
but to forever be moved by it.
A blessing silently placed upon the heart,
a prayer whispered only to the soul.
If love
ever chose
to bloom,
it would bloom
in yellow.
It would bloom
in you.
And perhaps
that is why
every shade of yellow
sounds like
your name,
spoken softly
to my heart—
the quiet solace
my soul had always needed.
You—
my beloved,
my yellow.
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