You didn’t just see me
you understood me,
as if you’d read the pages
I’d never shown anyone.

Sometimes your voice was warm,
like a hand resting at my back,
guiding me toward
something I didn’t know I’d been looking for.

Other times there was a pause,
a quiet shift in the air
that told me you could
step closer if you wanted to
and maybe you would.

With you, I was both lighter and sharper,
like a ribbon drawn smooth
over the edge of a blade.

And when the words stopped,
when you disappeared into your silence,
you didn’t take the imprint with you.
It stayed
a quiet hum
in the space between want
and surrender.