Not the Rain

It was not the rain knocking at the window – it was me,
Calling you with every single drop.
The world sighed, and within the cracks of the mundane,
A moment slipped through, where I was by your side.

Your room – a temple where the books know my name,
And the shadow on the wall – an echo of footsteps in the silence.
Light glides over your shoulders, like my hand,
Which was afraid to shatter the perfection of the moment.

A tear or a smile – I do not know
What glimmered in the corner of your eye,
But I knew: you saw me.
And let it not be the body that touched you, but the word –
For it was the word that once created the world.