Verses for You

The kettle hums the way it always has,but mornings read a little softer now.A message waits before the coffee's poured,and somehow that rewrites the whole of how.

Nothing dramatic tipped the ordinary day,no thunder, no grand cinematic sign,just your name arriving on the glassand every dull grey minute turning fine.

We talk about the nothing after dark,engine cooling, dashboard fading low.The road home ended minutes ago,and neither of us is in a rush to go.

It's new, it's clumsy, still finding its shape,learning which small jokes land and which ones fall.But watching it unfold beneath the streetlightmight be the finest, quietest part of all.

I write and clear the same three words again,playing it cool while counting down the day.One text or two? I overthink the pause,then laugh at how transparent I've become.

The cool act drops the second your name lights,and all that careful strategy feels absurd.It's only us, still finding the right rhythm,one clumsy, honest, happy draft per word.

My phone lies face-down while I try to work,and every hum turns me a watchful way.I hope it's you cutting through the noise,one line to lift the middle of the day.

A photo of your lunch, a random meme,a three-word note tossed lightly on the fly —a tiny lantern in the greyest hour,proof that the whole day turns because you're by.

We spend an evening talking about air,our days, our food, the small ridiculous things.No grand debate, no polished poetry,just easy, unscripted, whatever the hour brings.

I don't perform, I don't put on a show,tired eyes and tangents, stories that run long.And with you listening quietly on the line,not one plain ordinary thing feels wrong.

That flutter right before we're set to meet,walking an ordinary, crowded street.Hands in my pockets, wondering if I reach,hoping I make sense, hoping I don't overreach.

Our shoulders bump and my whole sentence stalls,the clever lines I practiced come undone.It's the good kind of chaos, raw and bright,a grin I'm hiding badly from everyone.

We've started building words that no one shares,a shorthand made of glances and of grins.A look across a room says paragraphs,and only we can hear where the joke begins.

A line from Tuesday no one understands,kept like a coin tucked high up on a shelf.It's early, but the little vault fills fastwith moments that outlast the day itself.

I'm meant to focus; there's a list today,but my mind keeps wandering your quiet way.I stare at nothing, replay how you laughed,the way the low light caught you where you sat.

The work can wait a minute while I drift,lost in the best distraction I have known.You've taken up the background of my thoughts,and pushed the duller worries from their throne.

The world outside moves fast and asks for more,all rushing hours and things I haven't done.But stepping into our small space feels like pause,the volume dropping, softness just begun.

No need with you to dazzle or impress,just sitting side by side and letting be.A shelter built from nothing you can hold,steadier than any distant dream to me.

We don't need maps for where this ought to go,no five-year plan, no blueprint for the years.We don't have to rush from step to step,or measure every moment by our fears.

Let's take it slow, and like where we are now,grateful for the small, unhurried start.Two people learning, hands loosely entwined,excited for whatever's next at heart.