If You Reach

You only have to breathe my name

in that quiet space between sigh and silence—

and somehow,

the world tilts in your direction.

I’ve felt it—

those little unspoken pulses,

like your thoughts brushing mine

in the hush between miles.

Love,

we built bridges from stray glances

and promises folded

into the corners of old conversations.

You left the light on—

even when the storms rolled through.

I counted stars you couldn’t see,

made maps from your laughter,

and kept every “almost”

in the lining of my coat.

But there’s a moment—

midnight deep and spine-still—

when even echoes lose their way.

I nearly gave in

to the stillness.

Then—

your voice,

or maybe just the shape of it

on the edge of memory,

called me back.

And suddenly

the miles didn’t matter,

time folded like paper,

and love wasn’t a waiting room anymore—

it was a doorway.

Always open.

So if you reach,

I will return.

If you falter,

I’ll hold steady.

And when the day forgets your name,

I will remind it,

softly,

and forever.