I loved her not for fleeting grace,
But for the depth within her face—
A mirror to her boundless mind,
Where truth and candor intertwine.

She spoke of skies both gray and blue,
Of hopes we chased, of what we knew.
No fragile mask, no pretense there,
Just rawness in the love we shared.

Her words, a river, deep and wide,
Where I would float, where I’d confide.
We spoke of stars, of time’s cruel tide,
And fears we kept so long inside.

Yet love’s a dance of bright and dim,
Of soaring hearts and chances slim.
Expecting more, receiving less,
The ache of dreams we can’t possess.

Still, in her eyes, the world stood still,
A beauty shaped by iron will.
Her honesty, a work of art,
That carved its name upon my heart.

Though goodbyes echoed in her tone,
I loved the way she stood alone—
Unyielding, free, her spirit wide,
The kind of truth that can’t be tied.

So here I stand, though she’s away,
Thankful for her in every way.
For loving her was to be free,
To learn, to dream, to simply be.

By Petezce the Night Olw