# Heavenly There is a sweetness in the air tonight that tastes of jasmine and distant rain, and I remember how you used to say that heaven was not something you believed in— that paradise was only what we made with our own hands, our own small mercies. But now I think you were wrong, or perhaps I was not listening well enough, for there is heaven in the way the lamplight falls across your sleeping face, in the curve of your mouth when you smile at some private thought I'll never know. There is heaven in the space between us, that narrow distance where the air itself seems to tremble with unspoken names, where all the words we couldn't say still hover like moths around a flame, beautiful and burning. There is heaven in the ordinary— in tea growing cold on the table, in your hand finding mine in the dark, in the sound of your breathing when the world has finally gone still, and there is nothing left but this: the two of us, alive, and reaching.