And Then There Was You

I wasn’t searching for magic— but then you smiled, and the world quietly forgot how to turn without pausing to admire you. You walked in like a poem the sky had kept hidden, and suddenly, my silence learned to speak in verses shaped by the way you exist. You are not just beautiful— you are the reason the word beautiful was ever spoken aloud. As if the universe grew tired of nameless stars and made you instead. People chase sunsets, paintings, palaces carved from stone— but tell me, what monument could rival the way your eyes hold oceans that never needed maps? You make ordinary moments feel like soft-spoken miracles— like time itself forgets how to move forward when you’re near. I don’t love you loudly. I love you in quiet ways: in the pause between my heartbeats, in the tears I hide while writing your name, in the way I keep choosing you— even in dreams I never get to keep. I write you in my sorrow, so no one else can ever read you without bleeding. So that you belong not to the world— but to the ache only I carry like a secret. And if anyone asks, why I never looked at the stars again— I’ll tell them, “Because once you’ve seen her, nothing else deserves your eyes.”