She visits me in sleep,
as if she once had a right to exist.
In dreams, she belongs—
with an eye-smile shaped by kindness,
the kind that softens a room
before a word is spoken,
and a way of loving learned early:
quiet, attentive,
as though the world bruises
what is gentle.
She would look like love’s echo—
not only in face,
but in the way warmth settles in her gaze.
In her, patience would meet mercy,
his tenderness, my careful heart,
joined without learning cruelty.
She looks at me as if she knows me,
as if she remembers
the love that imagined her.
As if she has lived long enough
in longing itself
to belong.
I wake before she can speak.
That is how I know she is not illusion—
only a life love dreamed too vividly
to disappear.
—faye
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 8:00 AM UTC
She visits me in sleep,
as if she once had a right to exist.
In dreams, she belongs—
with an eye-smile shaped by kindness,
the kind that softens a room
before a word is spoken,
and a way of loving learned early:
quiet, attentive,
as though the world bruises
what is gentle.
She would look like love’s echo—
not only in face,
but in the way warmth settles in her gaze.
In her, patience would meet mercy,
his tenderness, my careful heart,
joined without learning cruelty.
She looks at me as if she knows me,
as if she remembers
the love that imagined her.
As if she has lived long enough
in longing itself
to belong.
I wake before she can speak.
That is how I know she is not illusion—
only a life love dreamed too vividly
to disappear.
—faye
poet note: This poem reflects on the child one might imagine with someone they loved a life shaped by shared kindness and care, existing not in reality, but in dreams and quiet thought.
