Before you, I was a languagewith no alphabet—just sounds against teeth,vague as wind against glass. But you arrivedlike a season that refuses to leave,and suddenly I had vocabulary:the precise geometry of your collarbone,the longitude of your spine,the way your laughtersplits the air like lightthrough a prism I didn't knowwas hanging there. I have memorized younot …
I met you in the quiet between heartbeats, where the world forgets its noise and two souls remember how to listen. You arrived not like thunder, but like warmth finding cold hands— sudden, necessary, undeniable. Since then, ordinary things betray me. Sunlight through curtains feels like your laughter. Rain tapping glass sounds like your name. …
On this whispered eve, where shadows softly play,Before the world awakens to red and rose,I pen these words for you, my guiding ray,To weave our story through the quiet throes.Your smile, a dawn that breaks the winter's hold,Ignites the embers of a love so true—In every glance, my wandering heart is toldThat you are the …
She is not a fragile petalcarried by the wind’s permission —she is the garden itself,full-bodied and alive,rooted deep in earth that remembers rain. She moves like spring arriving slowly,curves unfolding with quiet confidence,each step a soft declarationthat beauty does not apologizefor taking up space. Her laughter opens like a blossom at dawn,warm and inevitable,drawing the …
I didn’t fall for you—I recognized you,like a word my heart had been practicingbefore it knew your sound. You arrive quietly,yet everything rearranges itself around you.Time loosens its grip.Even silence leans closer to listen. Your smile is not an ornament—it’s a doorway.I walk through it daily,leaving behind the smaller versions of myself. When you touch …
I did not fall for you all at once—it was quieter than that.A gradual forgetting of the worldwhenever your name entered the room. You have a way of undoing time.Minutes soften around you.Even my thoughts slow down,as if they’d rather stay with you than arrive anywhere else. I love how you exist without asking permission—how …