I used to write, not to fill the void, but to fill myself. I was searching for myself between the lines, reaching out to a thought born in a moment of tranquility, one that grew between my fingers until it became a text pulsing with life. I felt as though I was placing a piece of myself in every word, reflecting something of my essence onto paper, yet it always felt incomplete, as if it were waiting for something to make it whole.
Then you came. You were not a passing shadow but a radiant light. You were not merely an echo but a voice that carried me before I even spoke. You were the words I had yet to write, yet you arrived to make them more beautiful and closer to truth. I looked and found you there, not just a reflection, but a presence that filled the space. You were not an illusion, but a certainty pulling me toward you, just as light draws in the things that could never truly see themselves without it.
You did not take anything away, but instead, you added everything. You carried my words, but you did not change their rhythm, you made them pulse with even more life. I used to write alone, and now I write with you. Not because I lost myself in you, but because I found myself more.
Oh, what a light you are. You wear my features, but you are not a shadow. You echo my words, but you give them a voice. How much wider life has felt since you arrived. How much clearer the path has become since the curtain lifted and the light poured in. My existence is no longer just an echo but a heartbeat and a life, just as the sun, when it touches cold places, breathes warmth into them.
Some people illuminate our lives without taking anything away from us, yet they give us everything. They do not steal our light, they make it shine even brighter. Because true light does not fade, it reflects in those we love and makes life more beautiful than we ever imagined.