You came quietly,
like a breeze through half-open curtains.
No promises. No maps.
Just a presence that felt like somewhere
I had been before.

We moved through the night
like we had done this once in another life
familiar, but just out of reach.

I never asked you to stay.
But still, some part of you did.
In the rhythm of a hand,
a glance that knew too much,
the stillness after.

We don’t always remember names.
But we remember the way the air changed.
And how it made us feel.

Not love.
But something close.
A quiet collision between strangers
who were never meant to last
but who, for one night,
almost did.