The Other Kind of King

We carry suits one of hearts, one of diamonds. Not by blood, but by nature. I was the one who led, who held, who stayed strong because the ground kept shifting. Then he arrived not like lightning, but like morning fog. Soft. Steady. Unavoidable. He didn’t offer rescue. He offered rest. With him, I am allowed to not be fire. He warms the bed with my heat, guides me through city streets as if his body knows the shape of return. In his quiet, I hear the sound of home whispered in a tongue I do not speak but feel anyway. He thinks I’m the brave one. He doesn’t know what it takes to be seen and not flinch. And so I follow his hand beneath mine, his breath against my back, his heartbeat under my ear. He holds me like someone who knows what to do with fragile things. Ты моя тихая сила. (You are my quiet strength.)