
I knew it—
the moment you laughed,
your voice tumbling like marbles
across the kitchen tiles,
sunlight catching on your cheek,
a mosaic of morning and memory.
We stitched together days
with borrowed words—
sometimes a dash of español,
your abuela’s lullabies humming
between sips of chai and café au lait,
sometimes a fragment of French
slipping through your smile,
mon cœur, you’d say,
as if love could be measured
in syllables and steam.
You’d tell me stories
about the monsoon rains in Mumbai,
how the city would shimmer
with possibility,
and I’d answer with tales
of late-night subway rides,
graffiti hearts blooming
on concrete walls in Brooklyn.
We built a language
out of glances and gestures—
your hand tracing lazy circles
on my wrist,
my laughter folding into yours
like origami cranes,
awkward and beautiful,
never quite the same shape twice.
Then, a shift—
a pause in the middle of a sentence,
the air thick with something
unspoken,
and I realized:
love isn’t a headline,
it’s the footnotes—
the way you remember my favorite song,
the way I learn to say
good morning in your mother’s tongue,
buenos días,
even when my accent stumbles.
We are a patchwork of places
and promises,
imperfect and unfinished,
but when you reach for my hand
in the half-light,
I understand—
this is how worlds are made,
one heartbeat,
one borrowed word at a time.
About the Creator
Printique Studios
A poetic journey weaver, I craft verses that paint the canvas of life with hues of dreams and determination. Their words resonate with empowerment, encouraging others to forge their destinies and embrace gratitude.


Comments (1)
Awe so beautiful felt like i witnessed it all ♦️🏆♦️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️