Abide

For every man—young or seasoned—who has walked alone, protected without praise, or listened more than he spoke… this is yours.

There is a light that does not chase the sun. It gathers in quiet gestures—a shoulder offered, a gaze that holds. It forms in the boy who sensed too much, who learned to carry without telling.

What he bore shaped the ground he walks—not through noise, but through the rhythm of return.

Each silence became a vow.

Each mistake, a chisel.

Each small mercy, a map.

There were storms, yes—but also stillnesses no one saw. Moments that did not teach, but revealed.

Strength showed itself as patience. Power moved through restraint. Protection lived as presence.

The sacred does not command him—it abides in how he remains. Whether as son, guide, keeper, or unseen protector, he moves like a presence that leaves no claim, yet steadies the ground.

And even in forgetting, something stays.

An imprint beneath the weight, quietly aglow, ready to rise the moment he remembers it was always his.