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MYKHEAL 🤍
<p>He is not poetry...</p><p><br/></p><p>He's simple.</p><p>He's him—just him, no versions.</p><p>He's the pause between verses,</p><p>the breath a poem takes before it dares to continue.</p><p><br/></p><p>He walks like certainty,</p><p>speaks like calm.</p><p><br/></p><p>His eyes...</p><p>They don't just look—</p><p>they notice.</p><p><br/></p><p>His hands...</p><p>They reassure.</p><p><br/></p><p>What makes me curious is how he carries gentleness</p><p>like it was something the world could never take from him.</p><p><br/></p><p>He is not loud, yet somehow every room remembers he was there.</p><p>He wears kindness without making a performance of it,</p><p>and loves without asking for applause.</p><p><br/></p><p>He has a mind that thinks deeply,</p><p>a heart that feels honestly,</p><p>and a soul that still chooses kindness</p><p>in a world that often rewards the opposite.</p><p><br/></p><p>He doesn't chase attention.</p><p>He knows who he is.</p><p>He knows what he wants.</p><p><br/></p><p>And maybe that's what I admire most.</p><p><br/></p><p>He is proof that gentleness can wear strength,</p><p>that loyalty still exists,</p><p>and that love doesn't always arrive loudly.</p><p><br/></p><p>Sometimes I imagine someone asking me, out of nowhere,</p><p><br/></p><p>"What's your favorite color?"</p><p><br/></p><p>I'd smile and say,</p><p><br/></p><p>"The shade the sky becomes when he smiles."</p><p><br/></p><p>And if they asked me what love looks like...</p><p><br/></p><p>I'd tell them,</p><p><br/></p><p>"It looks suspiciously like him." 🤍</p>
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