They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.

But from yours, I observe a gentle landscape.

You are that rare rose that doesn't need to be picked to be loved and admired.

Even the wind stops to smell your perfume of vanilla mingled with the sweet scent of coconut.

Beneath your delicate petals hide strengths that few guess, but that I can perceive.

Even if your scars have not yet healed.

Like thorns planted by the dark days of your past,

You continue to bloom with the same gentleness.

Among the gardens I have crossed, it is your grace and your charm that have stopped my steps.

The more I observe you, the more I understand that some beauties do not fade, even under threatening skies.