From the start, your name was written in my pulse,
a quiet drum beneath the noise of maybe.
I traced the future in the frost of your breath,
learned time could fold like paper cranes mid-flight.
We were two shadows learning how to burn,
trading darkness for a shared constellation.
Even the moon forgot to wane that night—
it hung, a silver coin we never spent,
promising forever in a language
neither of us had to speak.