The Gravity

I felt you

before I ever knew your name—

like thunder echoing backwards through time,

like stars rearranging themselves

just for us to meet in a quiet room

with too much light between us

and not enough distance.

Your smile

was the first truth I wanted to believe in

without proof.

We laughed like people who had known

the ache of empty chairs

and decided never again.

You spoke in pauses—

each silence a gift,

each word like a touch

that somehow knew where it belonged.

I was all undone

and gladly so.

There was no plan

but the heart has ways

of drawing maps

with only instinct and longing—

and somehow, you were always

the next street over.

A glance that lingered too long,

a breath that forgot to leave,

your hand brushing mine

like a secret

not quite ready

but desperate to be told.

Suddenly, it was all

confession.

The kind that doesn’t require forgiveness,

only presence.

And you were there—

not as a promise,

but as a possibility

fully realized.

I don’t need forever—

just the kind of now

where you look at me

and stay.