She walks in beauty, like the night…

She walks in beauty, like the night…

The street is empty,

but she carries the weight of a thousand silent eyes.

The kind of beauty you don’t notice all at once,

it unfolds,

like the slow blooming of a midnight flower

in air too still to breathe.

The night doesn’t chase her.

It bends to her.

The shadows lean closer,

the air stills as if afraid to disturb her pace.

Her footsteps are not loud,

yet they echo,

not in the street,

but somewhere in you.

Byron’s words weren’t about the surface of a face.

They were about the gravity of a soul.

The way starlight can rest on her shoulders,

and darkness can drape itself over her like a lover’s arm.

The way she holds contradictions without breaking,

fierce and fragile,

cold and burning,

distant yet pulling you closer without a single word.

There is rain in her stillness.

There is fire in her quiet.

There is a whole world in her eyes,

and every story she will never tell

makes you want to stay,

to keep looking,

to keep unraveling.

When she leaves,

you don’t remember the color of her dress.

You remember the way the night changed shape around her.

You remember how she made you feel both full and aching.

You remember her,

as you remember the sky,

not for its light alone,

but for the way it makes the darkness beautiful.

#PoetryInLife #Authenticity #Presence #Storytelling #Inspiration