The Space Between

I turned away when his gaze lingered too long,

feeling the weight of something I wasn’t ready to name.

There was steadiness in him,

a quiet strength that made me feel seen

and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen.

I told myself I didn’t need him,

clinging instead to the shadow of another—

a love that had never truly held me.

I thought I could rewrite the past

if I held on tightly enough,

if I ignored the possibility of what stood before me.

He stood still while I wavered,

steady even in the face of my retreat.

His patience unsettled me,

his kindness a mirror

I wasn’t ready to look into.

So I pulled away,

pushed him back,

told myself it was better this way.

I wonder now if he felt the emptiness between us,

if he saw through the mask I wore,

or if he simply chose not to ask.

I gave him pieces,

fleeting sparks that never lasted long enough to catch,

and I wonder if he thought that was all I had to give.

Now the silence between us feels endless,

a chasm I cannot cross alone.

I whisper words he may never hear,

reach for a connection that feels impossibly far.

I long for his warmth,

for the way his presence anchored me,

even when I pretended it didn’t.

This space is heavy with everything unsaid.

I want to rewrite what we were,

but the thread feels frayed,

and I don’t know if he’s still holding on.

So I wait,

wrapped in the ache of what could have been,

hoping for the chance to begin again.

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