Brown eyes,
warm and alive,
like they’ve memorized a thousand roles
but still look at you like you’re the only story.

She forgets things mid-sentence,
then scrunches her face in that thinking way
I’ve come to love.
A word slips through her fingers,
and I’ll sit there watching her
try to catch it.
She always blushes when I remind her,
like I’ve handed her back
a little part of herself.

She listens when I speak,
not just with patience
but with interest,
like my thoughts are worth
the space they take.

And now,
I have to remember her
longer than I’ve known her .
Like a song that played once
and never again,
but the tune still lingers
in the quiet.

She came in like a season
that didn’t stay long,
but rearranged the sky
before it left.

And now every time
the light hits just right,
I find pieces of her
in the air.