She was always a step ahead of the truth, dancing between words like a shadow in candlelight.
The first time I met her, she asked me, “What runs but never tires?”
I laughed, assuming it was a game. “A river?” I guessed.
She smiled, the kind of smile that knew things. “No… it’s me, when I see you smile.”
Every conversation after that was a thread of wonder.
"What has no voice, yet speaks to the heart?"
"A song you left unplayed," she answered, before I could try.
----------------------------------------
She never said "I love you."
Instead, she'd say, "What shines without a flame?" and looked at me until I knew—she meant my eyes, when they looked back at her.
She spoke in riddles because plain words couldn't hold the weight of what she felt.
She needed mystery, metaphor—magic.
Over time, I stopped answering. I just listened.
Because I realized: she wasn’t testing me.
She was telling me exactly how she loved—softly, cleverly, in riddles only I was meant to understand.
And maybe… that was her way of saying forever.
🥰💫
