I hope the eyes you wake up to are your sanctuary,
Wrapping you in comfort,
Making you blind to the world outside.

Are you a beginning,

a light through the fog

or just another ghost

drifting through my hallway?

You tasted like laughter

caught in sunlight,

smelled like a memory

I’m never meant to forget.

You saw my smile in the dark

and asked what it meant.

Now I lie awake at 4 a.m.,

asking myself

the very same thing.

I float out of bed,
start the coffee,
add a pinch of cinnamon—
because it makes me think of you.
Still half-asleep,
I stir the silence,
and sip the memory warm.

My soul, perfumed faintly with dreams,

rests in the cold sheets,

haunted by the hush of night,

aching only

to breathe in

the irises

once more.

My eyes have always been
my favourite feature.
They're rather unusual-
maybe because they reflect
a rather unusual soul.

I like to look people in the eyes,
to see what they say.
Are they warm and inviting,
like hot chocolate
by the fireplace?
Or cold,
like a December morning?

So many people looked me in the eyes
but no one dared
to tell me what they saw.
Maybe sadness,
regret,
or just a reflection
of themselves.

And then I met you.
One look-
and you told me
you saw beauty
in my rather unusual eyes.

Time is a precious commodity—
the only thing we truly have in this life.
But now I must learn to be patient—
to trust the quiet passing of days,
to wait calmly, without growing upset.
Time waits for no one,
and no one waits for time.
But for you, I would wait—
patiently—
if only I knew you'd do the same.
So before I give you my time,
before patience seeps from my heart
I need to know where we stand.
And then I'll wait.
I'll wait.
I'll wait.