I'm not talking about the loud things,

not your eyes, or your smile, 

not your voice that can stun a room into silence. 

It’s in the stutter, 

that moment where your mouth struggles 

to keep up with your brain; 

the pause that lingers,

those breaths where thoughts gather themselves. 

Your vision that sees me in a different focus, 

the tiny scar no one else notices,

yes, 

I saw it from day one. 

And every time we speak, I check it’s still there. 

I sometimes think you’ve forgotten it. 

I haven’t. 

Your hand that rests beneath your chin as you read, 

the quiet discipline,

a promise you keep to yourself. 

The tiny constellations that orbit around you, 

how you listen when I talk, 

the shape the air takes between us 

as you lean forward, 

as if you’re ready to catch the words that fall.