উপকথা ১৮ নভেম্বর
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Hey, soulmate,
you will make me a slave—
that’s just what freaks me out.

You can open the floodgate,
you can either make me brave,
or you can kill me softly.

I’ll walk where the wildflowers grow,
with muddy feet and a restless soul,
reaching for something I can’t name,
something beautiful,
something that feels like home.

And if I fall,
don’t pull me out too soon—
let me learn the shape of the water,
let me breathe beneath the moon.

Because love is not a gentle thing,
it blooms with thorns beneath its skin.
It asks you to surrender
without promising
you’ll ever win.

Hey, soulmate,
if you find me there,
half-lost among the flowers,
don’t ask me where I’ve been.

Just take my hand.
Give me one flower.
And let me begin again.

Because you can open the floodgate,
you can make this frightened heart brave—
or, with the softness of your love,
you can kill me softly.