The wind dances through your hair,
your steps—light, effortless air.
Have you ever seen it?
The way eyes turn—
watching you move,
watching you twirl.

You sway like a butterfly,
spreading joy as you pass by.
A vision of beauty, soft yet bright,
your presence lingers in my mind.

But did you ever realize?
Beyond the glow of worldly grace,
it’s your optimism—radiant, rare—
that makes you truly beautiful.

It's been a while.
The birds keep chirping in the distance,
their melody steady, familiar.
I glance to the side, observing it all.
Was it the atmosphere that had changed,
or was it my heart whispering a thought?

I look down,
lost in reflection,
turning it over and over in my mind.
Now it feels like a cycle—
too many thoughts,
too many wanderings,
looping endlessly.

Sitting in my room,
time drags, slow and heavy.
Is this what it means to mature?
Sitting, studying, working—
or does the weight of it make me feel grown?

I feel tired,
yet the hours demand more.
Working, working...
this night stretches long,
a weary silence pressing in.

Barking sounds stir me—
had I drifted off?
Is this what it means to mature?