I watch the reflections of colors
Reflected in your twinkling eyes
Your arms loose around her waist,
confident, not afraid to lose her.
We used to dance around each other
A flurry of worries and many sorrys
Too scared to upset one another
Or step on toes that had already been hurt before
The heat hasn’t left my heart
It sparks when you look my way
The warmth between my legs
is what I wish the most would go away
But here in this moment
There is no stoking the fire between you and I
I’m content just watching head tilted high
A couple humans watching the sky come alive.

She sat alone, beside the door—
not asking much, not asking more.

She didn’t wait for steps to fall—
but for a glance.
No cry. Just call.

. . .

She wasn’t silent out of fear,
nor lost for words that wouldn’t clear.

She simply held that hush so deep
your broken soul
could rest—could sleep.

. . .

When you were cruel, she did not shake.
When you were low, she’d bend, not break.

She breathed like grass, a quiet thing,
forgave it all—just with a blink.

. . .

You could have left.
Or screamed. Or lied.
Or tossed your anger off with pride.

She knew it all.
She didn’t plead.
She breathed—just breathed—
like hope, like need.

. . .

And if you left and never came—
past morning’s hush, beyond the flame—

she still would sit…
no names, no cries…
and watch the night
as if—
it shines.

I don’t remember what you said.
Not exactly.
Maybe not at all.

But I remember
how your voice
  lowered
  when you said it.

How it curled slightly
  at the edge,
 like a question
 that wasn’t safe to ask
 out loud.

Some conversations
leave no quotes.
No lines to repeat.

Just a hum.
A pressure.
The sense that something
 shifted.
Without needing a name.

I’ve forgotten stories.
Entire rooms of meaning.
But I haven’t forgotten
 the way you sounded
  when you almost broke.

Or when you didn’t.

Tone is the body of language.
It carries what words can’t.

And maybe
what we really remember
 is not what we heard —
 but what we felt
 when we were listening.