I don't want to cage you.
Not your laughter,
not your choices,
not even your distance
when you need it.
But don't misunderstand me—
just because I let you fly
doesn't mean
I don't feel
that quiet, undeniable pull
when someone else
looks at you too long.
Because I do.
And it's not insecurity—
it's recognition.
They see what I see.
They just don't know
how deeply it goes.
They don't know
how your silence speaks,
how your anger hides softness,
how your strength
sometimes needs
a place to rest.
I know.
And that's why
when I say
"I want you"—
it doesn't mean
"I own you."
It means—
"I choose you
even when I don't have to."
"I stay
even when I could leave."
"I care
even when you're difficult."
And yes…
I'll say it softly sometimes—
just to watch your reaction—
"You're mine."
Not like a claim.
Not like a command.
But like a feeling
that found a home
in both of us.
And if you ever feel
like leaving—
I won't stop you.
Because love
that needs chains
is already broken.
But I'll be right here—
the place you return to
without being asked.
The person
you choose again
without being forced.
Because that's the only way
I want you.
Free…
but still
coming back to me.