If You Ever Need a Place To Dream

If you ever need a place to dream,

come sit in the quiet of my name.

I ain’t asking you to claim me,

just rest here like a Sunday after rain.

Picture this—

you, bare-faced, bonnet or messy hair,

no filter, no angles, no “wait, don’t look yet,”

and I’m staring like I just saw my favorite sunrise

walk into the room and call me “hey.”

No rush.

Just slow mornings where the clock forgets us,

coffee getting cold ‘cause we talking about everything,

from childhood scars

to the songs that saved you at 2 a.m.

I’d learn your silence like a second language,

hear every “I’m fine”

and know which one really means

“hold me tighter tonight.”

Imagine us on some random Tuesday,

cheap takeout, sweatpants, your playlist low,

you ranting about your day,

and I’m half listening, half admiring

how even your anger got its own kind of pretty.

I ain’t promising perfect,

I got cracks in me the light still tripping over,

but I’d treat your heart like a secret planet,

learning every crater, every storm,

never calling your darkness “too much”

or your tears “overreacting.”

Think:

late-night drives with the windows down,

city lights on your cheekbones,

your laugh cutting through the radio,

my hand on the wheel,

the other memorizing the way your fingers fit mine

like they been here before.

We don’t even have to touch every time—

sometimes love is just a hoodie of mine

falling off your shoulder at 3 a.m.,

or me texting “you make existing feel softer”

just because the thought of you walked by my mind.

I’d kiss you like I’m writing in cursive

on the soft parts of your doubt,

spelling out:

you. are. not. hard. to. love.

I’d pray over your insecurities in silence,

lay my ego down on the floor

so you never have to compete with my pride

just to feel heard.

You’d have a front-row seat to my healing,

and I’d have a lifetime ticket to your glow-up,

clapping for every boundary you finally set,

every time you say “no”

and choose yourself without apologizing.

Picture my chest as your favorite pillow,

not because it’s strong,

but because it’s safe.

A place you can fall apart

and not feel ugly for it.

I’d love you like a slow song

that never quite ends,

the type you replay so much

the lyrics start to feel like home.

Not possession.

Not prison.

Just partnership—

two broken clocks learning

how to keep time again

by beating in sync.

So if you ever need a fantasy to get lost in,

let it be this:

A love where you don’t have to shrink,

where “too emotional” is translated as “deep,”

where you don’t have to ask,

“Do you really want me?”

because the way I look at you

answers it a thousand times over

without a single word spoken.

And no, this ain’t written

for anyone specific—

it’s for the woman out there

who forgot she deserves

this exact softness.

If she hears this and starts daydreaming,

tell her it’s okay—

some loves are meant to be felt

before they ever arrive.