She was a soul of morning, with light flowing from her skin like a golden spring

She was a soul of morning, with light flowing from her skin like a golden spring, Joy blooming in her chest like flowers dancing on fields after rain, She believed in good, believed that love could soften even the hardest corner of stone, Then he came, a soul wrapped in silence, with eyes like locked doors, Carrying a heavy burden, which he never called his own. She saw the hurt in him and mistook it for the depth of a hidden ocean, She reached out with open hands, wanting to heal what was already submerged in the abyss, But he was not seeking healing, but rather a shelter in the storm of his own thoughts, He wanted to entrust her with his fire and then disappear into the shadow. He gave her his silence, but it was not peace, it was a cold wind piercing under the skin, Whispering doubts with a siren's voice, drawing her into a dance of uncertainty, He gave her his anxiety, tied to her ribs like an invisible spider's thread, Tugging each time she tried to smile towards the sun, Thus, joy became a forbidden land, full of hidden dangers. He gave her his depression, a dense fog that settled like a heavy blanket on her chest, Filled with nameless things, an insatiable hunger, a sadness without a spoken story, She still glowed, but her light had become a flicker, a flame in the wind's breath, Her thoughts no longer belonged to her, and the song from her soul slowly faded, Silence became her second skin, a garment of shadow and oppressive quiet. And he, he called this love, as if possession could justify the storm, Called her "his," as if destiny had demanded she bear his burden, She tried to pull away, but found refuge in the dark tumult, The kiss of his dark soul began to feel like a strange home, Now they walk together, two souls bound in the dance of contrasts, One who only gave, and one who forgot she was never meant To carry someone else's storm as her own cloak of falling stars.