The land above is loud with life,
but I find peace in where you walk
amongst stone, silence, and the hum of old souls.

You speak softly,
as though you may wake the dead,
yet your voice moves through the crypt
like a warm hymn the earth yearns for.

Your hands, dusted with dry soil and candle soot,
hold me as if I might vanish into the quiet.
There is no fear in your touch
only knowing.

I have loved men who burned like stars,
but you?
You are the dark sky that holds them,
endless, patient, eternal.

When I am with you,
even the graves feel like home.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Valnuary, in the year 989 AF.