Garden of the Heart

The silence of the night slowly seeps into my breath. Moonlight filters through the window, scattering across the floor, and my body trembles as if touched by its silver glow. I am the same old Shakira — yet tonight feels different. Something is settling not just around my body, but deep within the cracks of my soul.
You come to mind… with such intensity, as if memory itself turns into flesh.

I often wonder — where am I? What is this scattered, fragmented state? When your image flickers across the screen of my mind, my laughter escapes uninvited. That first time you looked at me — only looked — without a word, that moment still breathes in my veins.

Sometimes, you appear silently in my dreams. No words. Just your presence. And in that presence, the silence begins to cradle me, wrapping itself into my bedsheet. Your echo — louder in my body than my ears — touches me even while I’m awake.

I am an empty home… quiet, hollow… yet you shine through it like a firefly, flickering in its shadowed corners. At times, the breeze carries your scent to my skin — invisible, untouchable — yet it shivers down my spine like a whisper made of light.

I am not a flower — I am a petal already fallen. But your laughter — like the warmth of a noon sun — still lies beneath my feet. When I walk, that softness rises into me once again, like memory melting into touch.

Even the stars in my eyes sometimes weep… do you even know how your galaxy-like life lit up the universe of my simplicity? Your laugh, your voice, your walk — all of it is written in me like a sacred verse from the cosmos.

And Shakira? She still thinks of you. When the night deepens, when the eyes grow heavy and the heart awakens, your absence arrives like a kiss — one that touches not just the skin, but stirs the soul.

The feel of my solitude still wears your breath like a cloak. You are nowhere — and yet, everywhere. In my mirror, in the creases of my pillow, in the fragrance of my clothes… you are there.

This is the Garden of the Heart — where every memory of you is a flower — damp, fragrant, and sometimes… painfully beautiful.