The heart only asks for the softest of skies,
Where silence is golden, and no sorrow flies.
It wanders through cities, through chaos and art,
Yet yearns for the corners that cradle the heart.
Not jewels, not thunder, not trophies or fame—
Just whispers of laughter that call it by name.
A window with sunlight, a tea-scented breeze,
A slow hour melting beneath quiet trees.
It doesn't seek grandeur, nor castles or thrones,
But places where kindness still softens the stones.
Where hands are not hurried, and words have a grace,
And love isn't rushed—it just takes up its space.
Where stillness is shelter, not silence to fear,
And even the shadows feel welcome and near.
In rooms where no masks ever need to be worn,
The heart finds its harbor—its place to be warm.
It's not in the distance, nor hard to attain,
Just found in the moments untouched by the strain.
A smile that is honest, a breath that feels right—
The heart only asks for such places of light.