The words live inside me,
soft but burning,
like a candle kept hidden
in a shuttered room.

How do I tell her I love her
when even her shadow
feels too sacred to touch?

Each time she speaks,
my heart leans forward,
aching to pour itself out,
yet I answer with silence,
afraid the truth
would break the spell
of her nearness.

So I carry it quietly—
this love that glows in my chest,
spilling into the way
I watch her,
into the stillness
that trembles when she smiles.

Perhaps she feels it—
a warmth that passes between us,
a tenderness unsaid
but alive in the air.

And if I never dare speak,
let my silence be a hymn,
a devotion she may never name—
but always somehow know.