PART OF ME

 PART OF ME

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I don’t know, of course, what you don’t tell me,

but I know the things you won’t.

The silences you guard like fragile heirlooms,

the truths you tuck away behind a steady gaze.

Because of boundaries—those invisible ones,

etched faintly on maps,

spanning all the miles in between,

or the obstacles and responsibilities of life—

they are the very things that frustrate me most.

Like a river carving a canyon I can’t cross,

or a locked door with no key in sight,

they hold you just beyond my reach,

a shadow I can trace but never fully hold.

Truth is, I am moved, every day by you.

By the familiarity of your face,

the way it shifts like seasons—

a furrowed brow in thought,

a fleeting grin that warms the air.

Its expressions, its translations,

reveal more than your words ever could.

I see it in the tilt of your head when you listen,

the quiet spark in your eyes when you speak of what matters.

I am captivated by the smallest things—

the way your hands move when you explain something,

as if shaping the world to fit your thoughts.

Standing in awe of your mind,

I marvel at the caring, the kind,

the compassionate overarching theme

that anchors your moral compass.

It’s in the way you pause to help someone unseen,

the patience you offer when others rush past.

Your kindness isn’t loud—it’s a steady current,

flowing beneath the surface,

guiding you even when no one’s watching.

I think of the times I’ve seen you choose grace

over anger, understanding over judgment,

and I wonder how you carry such light so effortlessly.

I find so many words insufficient,

and yes, I am “that girl” who has to understand everything—

impossible, I know, but I try anyway.

Your depths are a labyrinth,

each turn a question I can’t quite answer.

I stumble over language,

searching for phrases to capture what I feel,

but they scatter like leaves in the wind.

I want to peel back the layers,

to know the stories you haven’t told,

the dreams you’ve buried under practicality.

I am reading all the font, even in between the lines,

doubling back, proofreading one more time.

You’re a book I can’t put down,

each page dense with meaning I might have missed.

I linger on the pauses,

the half-sentences you let hang in the air,

trying to decode the ink of your silences.

It’s like deciphering a language I don’t yet speak,

piecing together fragments of you

from the way you laugh,

the way you look away when something hits too close.

Part of me is pulled to some part of you,

to what it means, and who you will be.

We’re far too new to excitedly unpack experiences,

but I feel the tug of what’s ahead—

a horizon shimmering with possibility.

I imagine the days when we’ll sit with cups of coffee,

trading tales of where we’ve been,

the scars we’ve earned, the joys we’ve hoarded.

For now, though, it’s a quiet anticipation,

a thread stretching between us,

fragile but growing stronger with each moment shared.

And still, those boundaries linger,

the miles, the duties, the things unsaid.

They frustrate me, yes,

but they also sharpen my longing—

to know you, to bridge the gaps,

to see the parts of you that wait in the wings.

So I’ll keep reading, keep wondering,

trusting that time might soften the edges,

that one day, the things you won’t tell me

might spill out like sunlight through an open window,

illuminating everything I’ve yearned to understand.