The Girl Who Bends Gravity

I.
She walks like the universe forgot its rules
tripping over the ordinary,
laughing like she meant to,
spilling light wherever her hands brush.
Clumsy? Maybe.
But in every stumble, she leaves a trace
of something alive,
something that pulls hearts toward her
without asking permission.

II.
Her laugh is a compass,
pointing me to places I didn’t know existed
warm, wild, untamed.
And I watch her,
my heart trying to keep pace
with the chaos she carries so effortlessly.
She doesn’t know
how much gravity is jealous of her feet,
how stars feel small next to the way she moves.

III.
She keeps sweetness in her pockets,
in the curve of her smile,
in the way she forgets herself
and still gives everything.
She drops things, yes,
but she never drops the weight of a moment.
Everything she touches
shifts slightly
the air bends, the world leans closer,
as if even existence
wants a taste of her energy.

IV.
I don’t say her name aloud;
I whisper it to shadows and echoes
because even the word feels too small for her presence.
I could write a thousand poems
and still not reach the corners of her soul,
not even graze the edges of what she does to the world
just by being herself.

V.
She is a riot trapped in calm,
a storm soft enough to cradle,
a fire too honest to hide.
And I just watch her
trip over a chair, drop her pen,
and somehow my universe tilts
to catch her smile.
Maybe that’s love
not loud, not obvious,
but the kind that rearranges planets
quietly, secretly,
without anyone noticing
except the two of us.

VI.
I swear she talks to the moon
without realizing it.
The night leans closer when she hums,
trying to learn her rhythm,
trying to remember her pulse.
She is chaos wrapped in calm,
clumsy and perfect at the same time,
and I am constantly
falling into her orbit
without a map.

VII.
When she laughs,
really laughs
the kind that spills through rooms
and cracks the quiet open
I feel like I am seeing infinity
in the curve of her lips,
in the little tremor in her hands.
It’s terrifying, beautiful, unstoppable.
She is unstoppable.

VIII.
I write this for her
not for anyone else to read,
not for applause,
not for words that rhyme.
I write because the universe gave her to me
and I need to put it somewhere,
somewhere that can almost, almost hold her magnitude.

IX.
If she ever feels ordinary,
if she ever doubts her magic,
remember
gravity cannot hold her,
the stars cannot contain her,
and my love
is too small to fit all of her,
but I will spend forever trying.