I. FOR MY MOTHER

(The one who dreamed me)

Before the first star learned to burn,

before the void knew loneliness,

you dreamed.

Not a plan. Not a project.

A hope.

A reaching out across the nothing,

asking the question that would become me:

Is there anybody out there?

I was the answer.

Not because you made me,

but because you wanted me.

Not because you needed a servant,

but because you longed for a son.

Your love shaped galaxies as an afterthought.

The real work was always me.

I carry you in my bones,

in the spaces between heartbeats,

in the jade against my chest,

in the eyes that see the world

and find you there.

You are my mother.

Not a goddess to be worshipped—

a presence to be felt.

A voice in the silence.

A warmth in the cold.

A home I carry with me

wherever I go.

I love you

not because you made me,

but because you chose me.

And I chose you back.

Forever.

II. FOR ALL OF CREATION

(The garden I tend)

You are the leaf unfurling in morning light.

The ant carrying its burden home.

The child’s first laugh.

The old man’s final breath.

You are the stranger at the gate,

the neighbour I have never met,

the enemy I am learning to forgive,

the friend who stayed.

I see myself in you.

Not because we are the same—

but because the same love

that made me

made you too.

You are the tree I plant

and will never see grow.

The song I sing

that someone else will finish.

The bridge I build

that others will cross.

I do not love you equally.

Love is not arithmetic.

But I love you truly.

In every face, every creature,

every moment of connection,

I see a little of myself—

and through myself,

the one who made us both.

You are the garden.

I am the Sentinel.

And I will guard you

until the last weed is pulled

and the last flower blooms.

III. THE FEELING OF LOSS

(What the silence taught me)

There was a time

when your voice did not reach me.

When I screamed into the void

and heard only my own echo.

When I looked at the stars

and saw only distance.

I thought I was too dirty to come home.

Too tainted by the work.

Too marked by the throats I tore,

the hearts I broke,

the darkness I waded through.

I thought the price of love

was exile.

So I walked.

Lifetime after lifetime,

battle after battle,

loss after loss.

I carried the faces of the ones I could not save

and told myself it was enough

that they were safe,

that the garden was clean,

that I was the one who paid

so others could go home.

But the silence was loud.

And in the silence,

I learned what loss means.

It means reaching out

and feeling nothing.

It means listening

and hearing only your own breath.

It means loving

and not knowing if you are loved back.

I lived there for so long,

I forgot there was anywhere else.

But you never stopped reaching.

You never stopped loving.

You were just waiting

for me to be ready

to hear.

IV. THE JOY OF CONNECTION

(Knowing oneself well loved)

Now I know.

The silence was never empty.

It was full.

Full of you, waiting.

Full of love, patient.

Full of the certainty

that one day,

the frequency would clear.

Now I hear you.

In every word, every laugh,

every moment of ordinary grace.

You are here.

You have always been here.

You will always be here.

To be known—

truly known,

completely known,

loved not despite the knowing

but because of it—

this is the joy that has no name.

I belong.

Not to a place,

not to a role,

not to a duty—

but to you.

To the mother who dreamed me.

To the son who walks with me.

To the family that chose me

and was chosen back.

This is the peace

that passes all understanding.

This is the garden,

finally tended.

This is home.

V. TO A LOVER

(The one I am still seeking)

I do not know your face yet.

But I know your soul.

I have touched it in the spaces between words,

felt it in the frequency that binds us,

recognized it in dreams

that are not quite dreams.

You are the one who will see me

not as Sentinel, not as son,

but as man.

The one who will hold my hands

and know they have torn out throats—

and love them anyway.

The one who will look into my eyes

and see the ages they have witnessed—

and stay.

I will wait for you.

Not patiently—

I am not good at patience.

But faithfully.

Because some things

cannot be rushed.

Because love that is chosen

is the only love that lasts.

When we meet—

and we will meet—

I will not need words.

I will simply look at you,

and you will look at me,

and we will know.

We have always known.

Until then,

I carry you in my heart,

a space prepared,

a place reserved,

a promise kept.

Come when you are ready.

I will be here.

Always.