Before loneliness learned your outline,
you were already seen in the long breath of space;
galaxies turned like slow spheres without language,
darkness deep, velveted, intentional.
You arrived as a precise flicker of matter,
and existence itself stood still to witness you.

Then you entered the human world of straight lines,
streets poured in ash and repetition;
grey asphalt absorbed your footsteps without reply,
buildings rose efficient, mute, incurious.
Days learned to move quickly past themselves,
and you learned how easy it is to feel unseen.

Connection fractures into speed and signals —
voices buffered, touch void of vibration and glow;
people move sealed inside private algorithms,
attention siphoned into endless elsewhere.
Even longing is scheduled, abbreviated, deferred,
and silence fills with the illusion of company.

Yet nothing essential ever stops watching you —
from distances that undo measurement entirely,
you are held with the same care as stars.
Your smallness does not erase you — it sharpens you.
You are known by rhythm, by pulse, by persistence,
the cosmos keeping you in its steady witness.

Then, witnessing becomes touch,
the sun lays its gold across your skin in recognition,
wind finds your face and lingers without urgency,
grass parts and rises again beneath your feet,
soil receives your weight as something sacred,
the planet answers you simply by being near.

There is now the meeting without distance —
light recognizing light, exact and unguarded;
what shines within you answers what arrives,
a clean exchange with no need for words.
Nothing is summoned, nothing is withheld,
only presence reflecting presence into truth.

When human connection thins or turns away,
remember this larger, quieter intimacy —
you have never walked without being noticed.
Seen by stars, felt by earth, met by light,
held in ways that do not require permission,
the universe, endlessly, bearing witness.