You leave the window slightly open for me
You leave the window slightly open for me, knowing that I love the smell of rain,
those mornings when the sun hides and the world seems washed by dreams.
You give me a half-smile when you find a strand of hair on your sweater,
and you don't brush it off, keeping it as a silent sign of my presence.
You adjust my collar before we go outside, pretending it's a casual gesture,
but your touch is so full of care that it warms my silent soul.
We argue by the shelves in the supermarket about which bread is better,
knowing we'll take both anyway, to enjoy the shared taste.
Your sleepy voice at 3 a.m. asks if I locked the door,
and then you pull me into your arms before I can answer, calming my restlessness.
Love doesn't lie in the words you say, but in the chair you pull out,
before I reach the table, like a place prepared with an open heart.
Love is when you pour my tea without asking how many spoons of sugar,
you just know, you feel, and in this silence, we find ourselves, like in a gentle spell.
In the small details, we find magic, that essence that binds souls,
and in every simple gesture, love is born, a silent story of happiness.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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