She moves as though the world were built for grace,

Each step a whispered challenge to the earth.

Her eyes are less like stars and more like traps—

They catch a man mid-thought and leave him there.

She speaks, and I forget what I had planned,

Because her words are sharper than my own.

Her beauty? Sure, it stops the room mid-spin.

But what undoes me most is when she laughs—

That rich, unfiltered sound that steals the air

And makes the moment more than what it was.

We laughed so hard the night we played,

The theatre scene—remember? Oh, Connor—

The clerk announce it like a spell,

And I stood there, amused and full of joy,

While you were doubled over, with laughter.

But joy’s not just in jokes—it’s in the hush

Of ballet lights and bodies set to strings.

We sat in awe, a breath or two apart,

And marveled at the beauty of control.

And there, I saw her passion softly burn—

A kind of fire no spotlight could outshine.

There’s power in a woman who can joke,

Then whisper wisdom wrapped in reverence.

A mind that dances circles ’round the wise,

A heart that doesn’t flinch when tested hard.

She’s steel in silk, a thunder wrapped in calm,

The kind of strong that doesn’t need to prove.

I’m standing here, bemused and hope-full still,

A little wrecked, a little more alive—

For in her orbit, even fools feel brave.

The future’s sealed in shadows yet unseen,

But if she’s written anywhere in mine,

Then I’ll be grateful for the finest line.