2025-08-19-2

 You are born at a full flame,

100% of your own name.

No halves, no fractions, no missing piece,

just a wholeness humming in quiet release.


But every partner asks for a share—

a glance, a vow, a whispered care.

Each love a mirror, yet each a trade,

a little less you, for the bond you made.


One takes your laughter, one takes your time,

one takes your rhythm, one takes your rhyme.

They call it union, they call it trust,

but every joining gathers dust.


And soon you wonder—what remains?

A sum of hearts, or a list of chains?

For each embrace that felt divine

left you holding less of what was mine.


So guard that flame, let none consume.

A partner should widen, not narrow your room.

The math of love is simple, true—

real love makes more of you.





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