I don’t know what she has —
but it pulls me in
like the tide obeys the moon.

Every glance
is a spark against my skin,
every word
a knot in my breathing.

I want it all with her —
the mornings, the storms,
the years I haven’t lived yet.

When she walks into the room
my hands forget themselves,
my heart trips over its own steps,
and I realize —
I’m not just in love,
I’m hers already.

She wore — a shirt of Football —
unthinking — in her grace —
I lifted — and the Secret —
stood waiting — in its place —

A number — like a whisper —
that called — my name in thread —
the day — that I was given —
yet ours — will go unread —

For Signs — can bloom in Silence —
and never bear their fruit —
a prophecy — half-spoken —
the heart must learn — to mute —

Maria — walks so lightly —
the Earth forgets to turn —
and in her smile — the Seasons —
reluctantly return —

When near — my heart surrenders —
and pauses — just to see —
the grace that moves — unknowing —
through mortal fields — and me —

She is — a kind of silence —
that music longs to be —
a note I may not capture —
but keeps composing — me —

He looks — as though the Silence —
had lent him all its weight —
and every word — unspoken —
still lingers at the Gate —

His eyes — they search to find me —
yet never cross the seam —
as if the soul approached me —
but only in a dream —

I stand — as if a Question —
awaiting to be heard —
but he — becomes the Answer —
and never speaks — a word —

Every time she sees me
her eyes catch fire
and her tongue brushes her lips
as if remembering an old taste.

She says nothing,
but the gesture pierces me,
leaves me trembling
as if she had spoken my name
in the language of desire.

Amid the laughter of children —
their running feet, their radiant noise —
you and I exchange a glance.

The world keeps moving,
yet time forgets itself —
suspended between your eyes and mine.

In that moment,
nothing else exists.
When I look at you —
and you see me.

They gather — in a circle —
all polished for display —
their laughter — like a mirror —
that keeps the world away —

I knock — but there’s no opening —
their doors are made of glass —
you see the feast — from outside —
but never seem to pass —

And yet — beyond the glitter —
a quieter meadow grows —
where souls — without their costumes —
find shade the daylight knows —

They built — a wall of Silence —
and crowned it — with their creed —
declaring Love — a trespass —
no heart should dare to need —

Your blue eyes — still betrayed you —
they sought me — through the frost —
but chains — of old obedience —
declared our haven — lost —

So I — remain the exile —
cast out — though not by you —
for Love — was never guilty —
yet punished — all the same — too —

I walk — as though the daylight —
forgot to take my name —
its golden invitations —
addressed — but not the same —

The rooms — admit my shadow —
yet never know my face —
I speak — but find my echo —
has vanished — into space —

And so — I wear the silence —
as others wear their skin —
for what the world won’t notice —
can still exist — within —

She sits beside me —
as if my name were air,
a passing sound — forgotten.

I turn my gaze away,
pretending to watch the world,
yet all the while — I watch her.

In silence — I admire,
the constellation of her skin,
the little stars — her moles —
scattered across her body,
and the single one that rests
upon her left cheek,
like a secret blessing.

She never knows —
but my hands are trembling,
my heart — unfastened,
a captive to her nearness.

I pretend — yet I am undone.
For every glance I steal of her
is a prayer I cannot speak aloud.