The Way

It begins in the smallest way,

your hand brushing mine

as though it’s done so a thousand times before.

There’s a quiet knowing in that touch,

a pulse beneath skin

that speaks of something we can’t name

but both feel unfolding.

The light moves across your face,

soft, deliberate,

like it’s memorizing you for me.

Every laugh, every breath,

seems to settle into the folds of memory

before it even fades.

And I think,

how fragile we are,

how easily the world rearranges itself,

and yet how certain this moment feels,

like gravity choosing us,

over and over again.

It’s no longer about holding on,

but about letting love breathe,

about trusting it to linger

even when the air between us

is filled with silence,

even when tomorrow feels too far away.

Because cherishing you

isn’t just about the closeness,

it’s about the remembering,

how even when you’re gone,

something of you stays.

In the quiet mornings,

in the heartbeat before sleep,

in the way I still turn toward light

when I think of you.

So I gather these moments,

not to keep them from fading,

but to remind myself,

that love, when it’s real,

doesn’t fade at all.