Writers 
There was a girl named Bambi—
Soft, not because the world
had been kind to her,
but because she refused
to become cruel.
She laughed
like rain finally finding
a thirsty roof,
and somehow,
every room she entered
forgot how heavy it had been.
She had the sort of eyes
that looked as though
they had spent years
collecting sunsets,
holding galaxies hostage
behind quiet lashes.
People noticed her beauty.
I noticed
the way she listened.
As though every word
you spoke
was a fragile bird
she was afraid
to frighten away.
She walked
like she was apologizing
to the earth
for stepping on it.
Gentle.
Careful.
Unaware
that she was the reason
flowers believed
they still had competition.
She never knew
what mirrors knew.
That they lingered
a second longer
after she left.
That light
behaved differently
around her.
That even silence
wanted to sound
more beautiful
when she was near.
And maybe
that's what made her
so unforgettable—
She never tried
to be extraordinary.
She simply was.
There are people
who leave footprints.
There are people
who leave scars.
And then,
once in a lifetime,
there is a girl
who leaves
entire seasons behind.
A spring
that arrives unexpectedly.
A summer
you spend years
trying to remember.
An autumn
that teaches you
how beautiful
letting go can be.
A winter
whose absence
still keeps you warm.
Her name
wasn't magic.
It didn't need to be.
It was only five letters.
Yet somehow,
whenever the wind
said them—
Bambi—
it sounded
like hope
remembering
its own name.