that didn’t match his quiet smile,
a kind of fire he carried
beneath all that gentleness.
like he understood my language
without ever needing the words.
A touch became a conversation,
a moment became a memory
I still feel in my skin.
He knew how to hold space for me,
how to meet me where I was,
how to awaken parts of me
I didn’t know were waiting.
Sometimes I miss the way
he made me feel seen,
the quiet magic,
the unspoken heat,
the way his presence
could turn a heartbeat
into something louder.
I miss the man he was to the world —
and the fire he was to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment