The way her eyes don't just lock at you,
but look into you,
in admiration, and in search of understanding,
as if they see more
than what the world sees.
A look that says,
"I'm listening, even if you don't speak."
Not pressing,
just staying,
with warmth,
with room to grow.
They hold a quiet praise
for your presence,
and a calm knowing
of who you truly are,
or maybe,
who you're still becoming.
She watches to understand,
to catch the shape of your feelings,
so she can meet them,
not with questions,
but with kind response.
It may not yet be love,
but something close,
a gentle start,
a hopeful page,
where both are reading slowly,
line by line.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem