The piece feels like someone finally bowing inward, not out of duty but out of love. It speaks to the body as a companion, a fragile and faithful presence that has carried everything. Each “my one and only” feels like a vow whispered to the self, a promise of care. The lotus rising from darkness becomes the image of healing slow, patient, inevitable. There is a softness in the way the poem honours breath and stillness, as if each pause is sacred. The body is not treated as a task but as a tiny universe, worthy of reverence. The prayer moves like a hand resting gently on the chest, steady and grounding. It feels like someone finally recognising their own worth without apology. The words carry tenderness, but also a quiet strength, the strength of belonging to oneself. And in the end, the poem becomes a blessing: a human promise to love the self that has always been waiting.