He...

By Małgorzata Hernik

Eyes — piercing, certain, warm,

holding the quiet beauty of a soul.

Lips — soft, expressive,

 sometimes choosing silence instead of words.

 A voice of velvet and depth,

 whether whispered or spoken aloud,

 his face shines in my eyes,

 casting light and hope into my soul.

When he is silent,

 our hearts meet in wordless dialogue.

And when he laughs,

 joy pours over me like an ocean worth diving into.

No many words are needed —

just subtle, tender gestures.

 The touch of his thumb on my cheek

 says more than the most sincere compliment.

 In his gaze I feel support and admiration —

 for me, not merely as a woman,

 but as myself.

When our fingers intertwine

 in that delicate dance of touch,

 my heart quickens,

 and my pulse remembers the rhythm.

 I memorize his details

 to keep the essence of him when he is gone —

 the sound of his steps returning,

 their rhythm and certainty.

He is determined to protect me

from pain,

from injustice,

from those with cruel hearts —

 and sometimes, from myself.

When he listens, he listens with soul,

 with heart — he responds.

 His time is measured

 in moments with me,

 not in those spent beyond our sanctuary’s door.

When he leaves, he already misses me,

 even though he loves to explore, to discover.

 When he’s late, he calls —

 not from duty, but from care.

 When I am ill,

 he makes the pain softer,

 deciphers my smallest gestures,

 feels my moods instantly —

 one breath, one grimace, one tear is enough.

Our embrace is our language,

 our barometer for emotion.

 In my walk he senses feeling,

 without words he knows when I need him.

 My space is sacred to him —

 he asks before crossing it.

When he fights, he fights for us,

 for both our hearts.

 It’s his priority —

time doesn’t matter.

When he gives himself,

 he gives everything —

 without conditions, without “but”, without expectation.

 Gentleness is how he explores my inner world.

 His emotions lie open, like his heart — 

visible, full, and beautiful.

His compass is nobility,

 his morality — empathy,

 his religion — love,

 his words — adoration.

He reads me completely,

 for there are no secrets between us.

 From his lips I most often hear hope;

 he scatters my doubts.

His pain becomes my pain,

his joy my joy,

his motivation mine.

Understanding between us

 is a quiet space for being —

 without declarations, promises, or need of proof.

When he sheds tears,

 he doesn’t lose his nature —

 they are part of who he is.

To be with him is delight,

 pleasure,

 safety,

and freedom.

His voice — warm, velvety, with a trace of humor.

His sensitivity — masculine, steady, never weak.

He lets me make mistakes,

never counts them; he knows —

they’re part of life’s lessons.

To him, I am the one,

unique, unrepeatable.

Seeing imperfection in himself,

he does not seek to fix it in others.

His advice — unhurried.

His wisdom — patience.

His stance — devotion.

His work — understanding.

His passion — support.

 His act — endurance.

His gesture — kindness.

And his love — is Me.

By Małgorzata Hernik