You Are My Sacred Place

When the world bares its teeth,
old ghosts wake in the corners of my mind--
rooms I swore I’d locked behind me
flood with the sound of shouting,
and the future flickers with too many endings,
each one colder than the last.
I remember the quiet--
your breath evening out the air between us,
like waves deciding they’ve fought enough for one tide.

You don’t build walls; you anchor them.
In your arms, even my sharpest edges
find somewhere to rest
without apology, without disguise.

There’s no spell stronger than your voice
saying “I’ve got you, my cub.”
The storm doesn’t vanish--
it just remembers how to soften
beneath your hand.
Because home is not a place.
It’s the calm that happens
when you hold me still.