There is a word for most things in this world
for the way oceans move,
for the way stars burn themselves into the night,
for the quiet grief of autumn leaves.
But you,
you exist somewhere language forgets to reach.
I could spend a lifetime
stacking metaphors like fragile glass,
comparing your laugh to sunlight
or your eyes to constellations
that sailors once trusted their lives to.
Still, it would fall short.
Because loving you feels like trying to describe
the first moment of dawn to someone born in darkness
possible in theory,
impossible in truth.
You are something quieter than poetry
and louder than any word I know.
Something felt
before it is understood.
Something the heart recognizes
even when the mind cannot explain it.
Something
ineffable.