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Wild Sky I did not know love could feel this way, like a river that forgets its source and still keeps running, like sunlight slipping through old curtains and making even dust look holy. You walk into the room, and the air forgets it was ever ordinary. Every glass of water tastes sweeter after your name has crossed my mouth. Every silence grows soft, as if it was meant to be shared. I want to memorize the curve of your laughter, the stubborn tilt of your chin, the way your eyes refuse to lie even when your lips pretend. I want to sit with you in all the small hours when the city is half-asleep, when only stray dogs and our hearts are awake enough to wander. If I could, I’d build a house out of every word you’ve given me, a roof from your kindness, a floor from your secrets, walls from the moments you thought no one was watching. I would live there forever, content with nothing but your breath echoing down the hallways. And yet, love is not possession. You are not mine. You are the wild sky, and I am only lucky enough to keep looking up. Still, if you asked, I’d cross oceans barefoot, hold storms in my palms, burn through a thousand winters just to place one quiet kiss on the corner of your tired smile.
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