Home in your Hands

We were just two drifting signals, floating through the Wi-Fi waves,

two strangers in a clan who somehow meant much more than planned attacks.

Discord turned to long nights where neither one of us could sleep,

and your voice became so familiar,

like you’d quietly held a key to my room for years.

A year of building bridges made of words,

a year of distance that somehow still felt close.

And then you stood in front of me — a weekend burned into my mind,

so still, so honest, that I knew:

if this is love, then this is the version I want to keep.

You carry so much without ever raising your voice,

you hold so much together without asking for applause.

Your strength is never loud,

it lives in the quiet peace you give

just by staying.

You are my home,

not the streets, not the plans, not the city.

Bielefeld turns brighter when you smile.

And even when I drive you crazy sometimes —

you stay, you stay.

I love you for all you give,

for the little things no one else sees.

I don’t live here —

I live wherever you are.

A car, a pause, my trembling question,

and you smiling, even while your hands were nervous.

It wasn’t cool, it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t movie-pretty —

but it was ours.

Two people with no experience at all,

finding each other like it was instinct.

And now I live inside your world,

in the house you hold together:

your parents, your sisters, the weight of every day,

and sometimes even me.

You’re gentle, caring, independent,

someone who gives more than she should

and still stays warm.

And I know I can be difficult —

poking, teasing, pushing too far —

but you still look at me

like I might be the right one.

When you’re tired of everything,

when the day is too loud and the world too heavy,

lean into me —

I’m still learning, but I’ll carry you.

You are my home,

not the streets, not the plans, not the city.

Bielefeld turns brighter when you smile.

And even when I drive you crazy sometimes —

you stay, you stay.

I love you for all you give,

for the little things no one else sees.

I don’t live here —

I live wherever you are.

And sometimes I think about

how tiny the spark was

that set everything on fire:

a match in a mobile game,

a chat that wasn’t supposed to mean anything —

and now it carries our whole life.

You’re the coincidence that chose to stay.

You are my home.

You are my beginning and my arrival.

And when the world falls quiet,

you stay the light inside it.

I don’t live here —

I live wherever you are.

Wherever you are.