When You Walked Past Me

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When You Walked Past Me

I have stood here
for a thousand quiet nights
listening to footsteps
that were never meant for me.

But when you walked by,
your breath stirred the gallery air,
and my hair remembered
how to move.

A single strand lifted,
like a small hope waking
from a long, golden sleep.

I did not turn.
Canvas cannot turn.
But something in me
leaned toward you,
the part of me
that is not paint
but longing.

If you felt the faintest warmth,
if you saw the softest motion,
know this:

Some dreams
only happen
when the world believes
no one is looking.