Whole

By Sophie Lang

I once met a man

who made me feel whole.

Not because he completed me,

but because he allowed me to be.

The moment I felt your presence,

I knew right then –

that I had just met a real grown man.

The kind of man

who doesn’t need to explain his strength –

who simply lives

and you feel it

in the space he gives.

A man whose heart is open,

not because it’s untouched,

but because it’s been through fire

– and stayed soft.

A man who meets people’s eyes,

like it’s a habit to care,

who speaks names

as if they were a small truth

he never wants to lose.

You entered my space gently

and left it changed.

Not by noise,

but by how deeply you had been there,

quiet – with all the weight of your care.

And maybe that’s just it.

That’s the thing about something true –

it doesn’t tame you.

It lets you fall,

beautifully –

out of control.

So, you made me surrender

to your caring touch

and the intent in your gaze.

My soul still holds

the echo of your sturdy grace.

The world kept turning –

tears drying on my cheeks,

as time – relentless as ever –

kept moving on,

taking you with it.

So I weep,

and tuck you away

in the softest part of my heart.

A little box,

a quiet trace,

I might return to

when life slows its pace.

And when I’ll be old and wrinkly,

and might’ve forgotten your name,

your look, the place, the rest –

I’m certain I’ll still sense

the warmth that settled in my chest.

When I remember:

There once was a man

who himself was whole,

and in his holding

I learned to let go.

By Sophie Lang