In English, we say “I love you.” Simple, three words, soft on the tongue. But in poetry, we say— You are the morning sun warming my bones, the ink that refuses to dry on my soul, the pause between heartbeats where silence turns holy. In English, we say “I miss you.” Brief, a whisper caught in passing. But in poetry, we say— Every chair is empty without your laughter, every shadow stretches too long, and even the air waits, heavy, for your return. In English, we say “Stay.” A single syllable, almost begging. But in poetry, we say— Be the gravity that keeps me from drifting, the echo that never fades, the eternal flame that no storm dares drown.