“I Learned a New Language When You Were Born”

You didn’t meet the milestones

like the books said.

You met the world

on your own time,

in your own rhythm—

and I learned

to listen

differently.

I used to wait

for certain words.

Now I celebrate

the glance,

the hum,

the silence

that means safety.

I used to expect connection

to look like mine.

Now I know

it can look like

wiggling fingers in sunlight,

or lining up cars

in perfect symmetry.

You’ve taught me

how to translate joy

without words.

How to hear love

in the flap of hands,

in the way your body

moves through sound.

The world can be

sharp.

Unkind.

Impatient.

They want you

to sit still,

to “fit in,”

to change.

But I don’t want you

to change.

I want the world

to expand.

You’ve made me

an advocate,

a noticer,

a witness

to the kind of beauty

most people miss

because they’re too busy

looking for “normal.”

You are not broken.

You are not less.

You are a different kind of brilliant.

A different kind of whole.

And loving you

has rewired me

in all the right ways.