Before I came along, you painted a match
with brushstrokes dipped in memory and faith.
A woman who stayed the course,
who fit the mold,
who might've been perfect-
had time not turned.

But I am not a shadow
of what could've been.
I am the pulse of what is.

I carry love not in doctrine,
but in devotion.
Not in tradition,
but in truth.

I didn't come to replace a dream-
I came to build a life.

So speak of me not as a detour,
but as a destination.
Not as a footnote,
but as a chapter worth reading.

I mean no disrespect,
but I deserve to be seen.
Fully.
Clearly.
Now.