Yours.

You never asked me,

what I love most about you,

But if the question ever came,

I’d say your eyes

Not just for how they look,

But for how they saw me.

Your eyes, they understand

the language mine 

have always whispered 

The soft, wordless things,

born in the spaces between 

glances and silence.

Not loud, Not obvious 

but honest in a way

only someone, who's known

the ache would recognize.

You didn’t need to ask,

you just looked,

and somehow

you heard everything 

Which I never said out loud.

Where others only saw a face,

you saw a story.

Where others met my gaze

and turned away,

you stayed

long enough to listen

to what silence had to say.

No one ever really tried

To read the torment.

The hollow ache,

the quiet grief

that doesn't scream,

but just lingers.

No one stayed long enough

to notice the tired light behind my eyes,

the small, trembling flicker of hope

Which I was too afraid to name

And which I didn’t dare speak of

not out loud,

not even to myself.

But you,

You didn’t flinch 

from the weight I carried.

Or turn away from the mess

you just held it and stayed 

gently, like it wasn’t something to fix,

just something to understand.

And somehow that made it lighter.

-H