How Quickly

It started like mist—

not quite rain, not quite nothing,

just enough to make the air feel

like it remembered something sweet.

I didn’t plan to lean in so soon,

but there you were—

all soft gravity and sideways glances,

laughing like you’d known me

in a dream we both forgot.

Some people say timing is a tide,

that too much too soon

means you’re bound to drown.

But it felt more like flying,

with no map, no logic,

just wind,

and your hand

loosely finding mine.

Then came the turn—

the Volta, the shift—

when the sky stopped pretending to be still.

Because real love,

the kind that strikes before you’ve built a name for it,

isn’t always safe,

but it’s real in a way

safe things never are.

It tumbles through the bones,

unfolds like vines through stone—

messy, quick,

and so beautifully alive

you almost don’t care if it breaks.

So is it good or bad?

I don’t know.

But I know I felt the whole world tilt

just slightly

when you smiled.