Her Crown, My Crown

She tied her crown with hands that had known both burden and beauty.
I watched—
how grace wasn’t something she wore…
but something she carried.

When I tried it on,
her hands found my shoulders—
not to correct me,
but to remind me:
this isn’t just cloth.
It’s legacy.
It’s strength wrapped soft around who I am.

And when I saw us both reflected,
I knew—
her crown was never just hers.
It was always ours.