Where Hearts Refuse

I start with the way your breath feels near mine,

soft as a promise

no one else will ever hear.

There’s a hush between us,

not emptiness,

just a quiet so full it trembles,

like something sacred waiting to be touched.

I look at you,

and the world doesn’t vanish,

it rearranges.

Suddenly streetlights glow warmer,

coffee tastes sweeter,

and even ordinary moments carry

a strange glimmer of forever.

You laugh,

and something inside me steadies

and leaps at the same time.

But then;

that shift,

gentle yet unmistakable,

arrives like a turning tide.

This isn’t about wishing or hoping anymore.

Not about clinging to what might be

or holding breath in fear of loss.

It’s knowing;

in marrow, in pulse,

in the quiet corners of thought,

that what we share doesn’t ask to be proven.

It simply is.

It stands even when the world wobbles,

rests even when storms test the edges,

and blooms in places

we didn’t even know needed light.

So take my hand,

not because time demands it,

but because time bows to it.

And if tomorrow brings distance or doubt,

we’ll meet it together,

not clinging,

but choosing, again and again,

the soft miracle

of being each other’s place to return to.