Morning.
There’s another reason I speak your name—
because today
feels like a gift
meant to understand you.
Morning.
Another reason I listen,
hoping to be changed
just by hearing
what you need.
Morning.
A song finds me again,
not loud—
just a memory of a melody
I once heard
standing close to you.
Morning.
When all else falls apart,
when this distance
feels unfair,
when separation asks too much of me—
all I have
is this word.
Morning, my love.
Morning, my beautiful.
Morning, so divine.
Morning, my sweet friend,
my hunger,
my hope.
Morning today.
Morning tomorrow.
Good morning—
my everything.
Letters from Xhale the magazine Words that breathe. Stories that Linger, 