Lyrics
There are colours
you notice.
And colours
that notice you.
Yours
did that.
Balkan blue.
Not postcard blue.
Not summer-sea blue.
Something colder.
Deeper.
The colour
of distance
when distance
starts losing
the argument.
The colour
of a question
you don’t ask
because somehow
you already know
I heard it.
I had become
very good
at standing
half a step
outside my life.
Watching.
Understanding.
Naming the weather
without getting wet.
Then your eyes
found the window
I was hiding behind
and made glass
feel suddenly
very thin.
No drama.
No thunder.
Just that strange
quiet recognition
that says—
there you are.
Balkan blue eyes,
don’t promise me
forever.
Just look at me
like that
for one more second.
Long enough
for all the noise
to forget
what it was saying.
Long enough
for the clever man
to stop
explaining himself.
Long enough
for me
to remember
that being seen
can feel
like coming home.
Sometimes
your eyes
look like morning
after a night
that asked too much.
Sometimes
like winter light
over a river.
Sometimes
like trouble
with excellent manners.
And sometimes
they soften
for half a second
and I swear
the whole bloody room
changes temperature.
Maybe
that is the part
I never expected.
Not the blue.
Not the beauty.
The way
something in me
goes quiet
when you look
without asking
for anything.
Balkan blue eyes,
I don’t want
the photograph.
I want
the woman
who gets tired.
Who laughs
at the wrong moment.
Who thinks too much.
Who goes quiet.
Who gets angry.
Who comes back.
I want
the light
and the weather.
The beautiful
and the difficult.
The whole sky.
Not just
the blue.
Maybe
that is love
when you remove
the mythology.
Not blindness.
Not rescue.
Not two people
pretending
they have no shadows.
Maybe
it is simply
this:
I see
what is real
and still
move closer.
You see
what is real
and somehow
stay.
No orchestra required.
Though naturally
I added one.
And somewhere
between one song
and the next,
those eyes
stopped being
a detail
of your face.
They became
a place
inside my memory.
A frequency.
A small blue door
that opens
whenever
I think of you.
Balkan blue eyes,
keep your mysteries.
I don’t need
to solve you.
I spent enough
of my life
turning people
into questions.
Now
I would rather
stand here
without an answer
and love
what I can see.
The intelligence.
The fire.
The softness.
The contradictions.
That impossible blue
holding all of it
without asking
permission.
I thought
music
was the language
that brought me
to you.
Maybe it was.
But somewhere
along the way
I learned
another one.
No words.
No theory.
Just you
looking at me.
And me
finally
not looking away.