She is the hush before bloom.
A softness so intact it alters the room.
Her kindness it’s an atmosphere.
Something you breathe before you speak.
Skin like milk-silk.
Hair like ember-threaded honey.
A modern Aphrodite, rising from silence, and scent, and stillness.
With eyes that hold lullabies and warnings.
With a presence that heals without asking.
She is not a muse.
She is the moment the world remembers how to be gentle again.
