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  The Gravity of You I. Before the world awakes, I feel you— not as memory, not as shadow, but as a current beneath my ribs, pulling me toward something larger than breath, larger than time. Your name hums quietly through the quiet of morning, folding itself into the spaces where silence lingers, where thought becomes longing, where even the air seems to remember your presence. Love is not always fire. Sometimes it is the slow bloom of light that gathers in empty rooms, that threads itself into the cracks of ordinary days, until suddenly everything glows with possibility. You are that light— gentle, unassuming, inevitable— turning the mundane into sacred, the fleeting into eternal. II. I remember the first time our fingers brushed— so ordinary, so brief, and yet the world shifted. I traced the lines of your palm as though they were maps to lands I had never known, and in that warmth I discovered a geography that belongs entirely to us. Your han...

  When the Moon Whispers When the moon whispers to the sea, I feel the echo ripple through my chest, A song older than memory, Older than the shadows that cling to the corners of the night. The tide carries stories in its rise and fall, Stories of ships that vanished, of lovers who lingered, Of hearts heavy with unsaid words, And laughter that refused to fade. I watch the water fold itself, Silver against the dark, And I know that even in silence, life is speaking. The trees bend with patience, Their roots tangled deep in forgotten earth, And leaves trembling in the wind Tell tales I almost remember. There is a grace in their endurance, A quiet dignity that outlasts storms, That outlasts the hands of time Even when it carves its name on everything. A fox moves through the forest, Eyes bright as candlelight in the dusk, A fleeting shadow among shadows. It pauses, listening, And for a moment, I feel its knowing— That life is fleeting, That beauty is often sh...

  Beneath the Quiet Sky Beneath the quiet sky of dawn, Where shadows fade and light is drawn, I wander through the waking day, And feel your presence lighting my way. The trees lean low, their branches sway, Dancing to the tune of a new-born day. The river hums a silver song, Carrying whispers the whole day long. I think of laughter, bright and free, Moments of joy you’ve shared with me. The touch of hands, the stolen glance, A world transformed in simple chance. There’s magic in the smallest things, The flutter of birds, the brush of wings. The dewdrops clinging to the grass, The fleeting shadows that slowly pass. I love the way your eyes can speak, Of hidden worlds, of wonders unique. A glance, a smile, a gentle nod, A bridge between the heart and God. Through stormy nights and restless seas, You’ve been my anchor, my gentle ease. A steady flame when the world is cold, A hand to hold, a warmth to hold. We’ve wandered through streets, both old and new, Ch...

  In the Quiet of You I. Before the world awakens, I feel you. Not as a shadow, not as a memory, but as a pulse beneath my ribs, a quiet insistence that bends the morning light into the curve of your smile. Even in absence, you are present— a rhythm that hums through empty streets, through the hush of my breath, through the spaces where thought becomes longing. II. Love is not always fire. Sometimes it is the hush of wind in an empty room, the slow bloom of sunlight over ordinary things, the way a smile can hold the weight of an entire universe. You are that light— gentle, unassuming, inevitable— folding into every ordinary moment and making it sacred. I have traced the edges of your laughter like constellations that only I can read, and in each curve, each pause, I find the echo of eternity. III. I remember the first time our hands brushed— so ordinary, so fleeting, and yet, for a heartbeat, the world shifted. I traced the lines of your palm...

  Echoes of the Hidden Dawn There is a place where silence speaks, Where morning folds itself into the arms of the earth, And the dew clings to blades of grass Like tiny lanterns waiting for a hand to cradle them. I walk there in the stillness, Each step a question whispered to the wind, And the wind responds softly, Carrying the scent of moss and rain-washed stones. The river moves with deliberate patience, Its surface catching fragments of the sky, Fragments of clouds that wander like travelers, Lost and yet full of purpose. I lean close, listening to its secrets, Stories of stones worn smooth by time, Of roots dipping their fingers into hidden currents, Of rain that falls unseen but never forgotten. In the forest, the trees sway with a quiet rhythm, Branches brushing against one another Like hands in a prayer unspoken. I imagine they have seen everything— The laughter of children in summer, The sorrow of leaves falling in autumn, The relentless hush of win...

Echoes of the Heart In the quiet morning’s gentle glow, Where rivers whisper and soft winds blow, I wander through the waking day, And feel your presence lighting my way. The trees lean low, their branches sway, Dancing to the tune of a new-born day. The sunlight spills in molten streams, Illuminating fragile dreams. I remember laughter spilled like rain, Moments free from worry or pain. Your hand in mine, a tethered flight, Two souls entwined in morning light. There’s magic in the smallest things, The flutter of a bird, the brush of wings. A dewdrop clinging to the grass, A fleeting shadow that slowly will pass. I love your eyes, how they quietly speak, Of hidden worlds, of wonder unique. A glance, a smile, a subtle nod, A bridge between our hearts and God. Through stormy nights and restless seas, You’ve been my anchor, my gentle ease. A steady flame when the world is cold, A hand to hold, a warmth to hold. We’ve walked through streets both old and new, Chasing suns...

  Between Heartbeats I. In the quiet before dawn, your name arrives like sunlight spilling across still water, gentle yet insistent, turning ordinary moments into something sacred. I feel it in the hollow of my chest, a pulse that trembles with the memory of you, and even before I see your face, I know the world has shifted toward your light. There is a language in the brush of your fingers, in the tilt of your head, in the pause before your laughter— a grammar written not in words, but in the spaces between them. I have learned to read it, to trace its curves with my eyes, with my mind, with the quiet reverence of someone discovering a new continent within another’s soul. II. Love is not always fire. Sometimes it is the slow bloom of morning, the way sunlight gathers in quiet corners, or the hush of wind in a room that remembers nothing else. You are that light— gentle, persistent, unassuming, yet capable of changing everything simply by exist...