The Moment

You looked at me

not just at me

but into that soft ache

I had carried quietly for years.

Like you were reading a sentence

you had started long ago

and forgotten until now.

My fingers traced the rim of my glass,

slow circles,

half afraid it might spill,

half afraid I might.

The air between us

was restless,

alive with everything we did not say.

Outside, the city kept moving,

but it felt far away,

like it was giving us space to decide.

Then it happened,

the turn I never saw coming.

Your voice, steady but trembling at the edges,

let slip a truth so bare

it seemed to hang in the air,

fragile,

but certain.

It did not feel like falling.

It felt like the ground itself

had learned a better way to hold me.

After that,

even the shadows felt warmer.

We walked without hurry,

our steps falling into a rhythm

that belonged only to us.

The sky was no brighter than before,

yet it stretched open

as though it knew

we had just stepped into a place

we could not step back from.