Her eyes
don’t just look —
they pull me in,
like rain-soaked music
in a silent city.
Her smile
carries light —
not the loud kind,
but the one
that breaks into you
quietly,
like dawn on a sleepless night.
Her hair
is where
the sky forgot its stars.
I’d lose maps and meaning
just to trace
one strand.
She speaks —
and something inside me
writes its first poem.
I forget
what I was before her voice.
She walks —
like a song only I hear,
as if the world around her
softens its footsteps.
She’s the stillness
between heartbeats,
the pause before a kiss,
the calm I never believed
could exist.
She isn’t just beautiful —
she’s the kind of beautiful
you feel
long after she’s gone.
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