The Moment

Your gaze lands on me with a softness

that nearly unravels the room.

There’s something unspoken there,

a quiet pull,

a warmth that edges closer

without ever asking permission.

I feel it in the small things:

the way your hands hover

as if deciding whether to bridge the space,

the way your breath settles

like it’s tuning itself to mine.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing practiced.

Just truth rising in its simplest form.

And then,

So slight it could be a trick of light,

or the sound of your pulse echoing into mine.

But it’s real.

Real in the way your shoulders ease,

in the way your hope stops hiding.

From that instant on,

your affection becomes a language

you no longer try to translate,

a nudge of your knuckles,

a shared quiet,

a smile that doesn’t even attempt to behave.

You don’t have to say anything.

Your presence shapes meaning

more clearly than any confession.

Love lives in the gestures,

the steady reach,

the way you show up

before I even call your name.

By the time your hand finds mine,

I already know.

I knew long before the touch,

long before breath turned into closeness,

in that first moment

when your heart leaned toward me

and forgot to lean back.