Every time I see you, something inside me stirs—no, it's more than that. It isn't just selfless love, and it isn't merely happiness. How can I explain it when words seem so small and helpless? There are feelings the heart understands but the tongue can never quite translate.
When you are near, a gentle silence settles around me, warm and trembling like the hush before dawn. Your presence wraps around my thoughts, and I find myself unable to remain still. I want to laugh a little louder, tease you, do something mischievous—anything that might draw a smile or a few precious words from you. Your silence feels unbearable, like a closed door I am too afraid to knock on.
I long for the person I first saw—the one whose eyes held unspoken stories, whose quietness felt alive rather than distant. I still search for that first spark, hoping it will return and speak to me once more.
I don't know if this will be our last meeting—maybe the last time our paths ever cross. The thought lingers quietly in my chest, heavier than I expected. You look at me, searching for words I cannot seem to give. You cannot understand my silence, and I don't blame you for that. Some feelings are too deep to be spoken; they settle in the spaces between breaths, in the pauses between heartbeats.
I know you came today because I asked you to. Because I insisted. Perhaps if I hadn't, you wouldn't have come at all. That realization stings more than I let on. Still, I'm grateful you're here—even if it's only out of obligation, even if it's only for a moment.
I won't ask again. I won't place that weight on you another time. If this truly is our last meeting, I'll let it be just that—quiet, unfinished, and carried only in memory.