I hope you find someone who speaks your language, Not just the words you shape with lips and tongue, But the dialect your bones know by heart, The one you've whispered alone in empty rooms, How you say things when you’re quiet, and pause to stare at what makes you smile. Even when there's no one to see it. May they understand what your hands are telling you. that a pat on the shoulder can mean 'I care', that your laughter holds pauses and punchlines, you’ve held back for lack of someone to share them with, May they know that sometimes you speak in metaphors Only the earth beneath your feet could decode. Because the air around you never could. No more translating every beat of your heart, Into terms that slip like water through their palms. No more filling silences with words that weigh you down, No need to explain why the rain pulls songs from your throat, when all other sounds just echo back, Why old books carry the scent of your skin, For they’re the only things that feel like they know you, Or why you stare at the moon through cold glass windows. Trying to connect stars that stay so far apart. May they speak back in phrases that fit just right, So your soul can finally rest from its life’s work, Of shouting into space and waiting for a sound, No longer a translator, For a language no one else could hear But simply what is said.