My name

are evenings when the sky feels impossibly wide,

and in that quiet stretch of blue and gold,

I find myself thinking of you—

not in loud ways,

but in soft, shimmering ways

that feel like moonlight brushing against the heart.

You move through my thoughts like a drifting constellation,

graceful and glowing,

as if the universe placed a tiny piece of its wonder in you

and trusted you to carry it gently.

And you do—so effortlessly,

as though you were born from the soft breath of the cosmos.

Your presence has a kind of magic that feels ancient and delicate,

like the hush before a falling star,

or the warmth of a lantern glowing against the quiet night.