“You are a reader, not a writer. And my love... is the judge.” I was the hand that caught you, the voice that showed you the way. But as you walked away, simplicity faded, and your mind turned, grasping at what was once yours. One day, the fire that bound us will whisper my name, bending over you like an unshakable truth. No one else will give you love in poetry, in words that shape what you feel. You were always reading. I was always writing. And now, my love delivers the final verdict. (A.D)