There are nights the sky feels kind,
as if it listens to the mind,
soft winds tracing what can't be said,
dreams that linger, half in dread.
Somewhere, laughter fills your space,
warmth and calm your quiet face.
And though the world is wide and clear,
some thoughts still choose to stay right here.
Perhaps the stars can hear it too,
the silent wish that drifts to you.
Not loud, not known, but faintly near,
a whisper only hearts can hear.
If fate had drawn a different line,
would moments still have felt divine?
Would eyes still meet, would hearts still stay,
or gently drift the same old way?
It's strange, how peace can still disguise
the ache that hides in steady sighs.
To want, yet never to demand,
to reach but never take a hand.
So let the night keep what it knows,
the wish that quietly still grows.
No claim, no plea, no grand design,
just a heart that whispers, "maybe mine."