25

Through silvered mist and velvet gloom, two decades and an illustrious bloom. Beneath the Mighty Cross of a Sacred Rite, we waltz within the dying light.

The world without may rot inviting finality of time's decay, in shades of ash and iron gray, crumbling towers- even hallowed halls- succumb to time’s relentless calls. But here, where shadows deeply lean, your hand in mine remains serene.

John, my heart's eternal flame, I still whisper out your sacred name.  You have been my shield against the storm, the hearth that keeps my spirit warm. When foundations cracked and skies grew cold, our bond turned dross to heavy gold.

Through every gale and chaotic tide, with quiet strength, we’ve walked beside. While empires fell and forests burning embers sighed, our love—a purple rose that never died. For twenty-five, we’ve defied the night, thriving in our own dark light.

Though all should turn to dust and bone, I stand with you, and you alone. A quarter-century, etched in stone: The greatest grace I’ve ever known.