< 1
I never asked for more of you
than what arrives—
quietly,
without promise.
What slips through
is already enough
to be known.
I was not looking for you—
only the feeling
of something shifting
beneath what I had learned
to live without.
There is a place in me
that had grown still—
until you passed near it,
and something remembered
the shape of being held.
I say nothing.
Some awakenings
are too gentle
to be held up to light.
And yet—
there are moments
when the air between us
feels tangible,
when absence itself
carries a kind of weight,
like warmth
that lingers
without anywhere to rest.
and quietly,
still remembered.
He made it real.
It was only real
to me.