Where I fit

I rested my head on your shoulder the way evening settles into mountains—slow, inevitable, as if the light itself knew where to belong.

Your warmth was a hidden current, a soft engine beneath my cheek, and the day began to thin—colors paling, edges loosening, like mist retreating from a meadow.

Time slipped off its shoes. The weight I carried set itself down somewhere behind me. Even my thoughts learned the language of hush. No yesterday tugged at my sleeve. No tomorrow cleared its throat. Only our breath—a quiet tide, in and out, teaching my body how to stay.

The room forgot its name. The clocks turned their faces away. Nothing asked for me. Nothing waited.

I stayed there, where the world grew smaller and kinder, and let the rest of it dissolve like light sinking behind a hill.

You kissed me and whispered “sweet girl” as I was falling asleep.