years blooming

There was longing in her eyes that she would never dare speak aloud, the quiet hope that someone might notice the years blooming inside her.

She walks more slowly through life, gathering every small kindness the day offers: a smile, a question, the warmth of sunlight on her shoulder. She receives each one as though it were a gentle reminder that she still belongs here.

I wanted to tell her:

I see the years blooming inside you.

Instead, I simply smiled.

As our paths quietly drifted apart, I carried one wish with me.

May the years blooming inside her be cherished.