The collection
I have known silence with many. Heavy silence. The kind that asks to be survived. But with you even silence smiled. And I think of this often, how some people arrive not with thunder but with a laugh that makes a place feel warmer. It is a small thing, laughter. Men say that. They are…
Sometimes I think we have met already in another arrangement of sorrow, where the stars made no accusations and time did not feed on itself. Here I answer only in silence. What else is left when love arrives as an apparition and asks to be believed? Your voice reaches me from the side of existence…
I only stand here now, in this small crossing of lives, aware that I am late, but not lost. Because something in me recognized something in you as if the universe, despite its endless distance, still knew how to bend two separate paths into a single moment.
I do not come with clever sentences or the language of certainty. I come only with the small trembling truth that appears when someone begins to matter.
I wasn’t expecting you, to find me when I was lost in thought, wrapped in my own solitude, content with the silence that had grown familiar, only to have it broken by the sound of your laughter, a sound that now echoes through my heart.
Night brings you without apology. You lie beside my thoughts as if you have always belonged there, as if forgetting were a language my body never learned.
I tell myself: stop. Enough ink, enough hunger. Enough reaching across air. But the words do not listen. They spill from me like water from a cracked jar, like poems that learned your name before they learned restraint.
I think of you the way fruit thinks of summer, inevitably, without impatience, accepting sweetness as a form of waiting.
Perhaps one evening, when the blue hour has fallen like a soft cloak over our shoulders, we will find ourselves in that quiet center, the sacred hinge between day and night where breath takes the shape of prayer.