More than the pages of the book,
it was your eyes that held the story.
Every moment written in silence,
felt brighter than any old glory.
Your smile was like the morning sun,
filling my heart with endless light.
Even your silence spoke softly,
telling tales in the quiet of night.
The shade of the tree, the lines of sunlight,
everything felt complete with you near.
As if the world had stopped just then,
no other path, no other frontier.
The words inside the book were excuses,
for it was our hearts that truly opened.
With every turn of the fragile pages,
our bond grew stronger, unbroken.
When your gaze finally met mine,
time itself refused to move.
No words, yet the feelings spoke,
like souls had found their groove.
Now whenever I hold a book in hand,
that afternoon returns to me whole.
Your smile, your silence, your gentle presence,
all are written in the chapters of my soul.
