You were sunlight before you ever spoke,
a spark I caught and carried home —
I was still a child myself,
learning the shape of love through you.

We grew together, you and I —
two wild hearts finding rhythm,
babies raising each other
on borrowed courage and small joys.

Your first steps steadied mine.
Your laughter rewrote the sound of fear.
Each year, we learned a new kind of strong —
not the loud kind,
but the kind that holds on through storms
and still looks for the sky.

Now you rise taller than the tides
that once rocked you to sleep,
your voice steady where mine trembled,
your laughter filling the corners
where silence used to live.

The years unfurl like a silk ribbon —
knotted, softened, untied again —
school shoes by the door,
tea gone cold,
a shared glance that says we made it.

I see myself stitched in your smile,
the better parts of me, rewritten in you.
And though the world will stretch and pull,
may it always find you gentle—
burning warm instead of bright.