Where Your Spark

I feel it first as a quiet stir

right behind my ribs,

a soft flare rising without asking,

as if your presence reaches me

before your voice ever does.

There’s something electric

in the way you look at me,

not sharp,

not sudden,

but warm enough to pull every guarded piece

into open space.

You make the world tilt

just a little,

enough for light to fall

where it never quite landed before.

I breathe deeper when you’re near,

like my lungs finally remember

what they were made for.

You touch my hand,

simple as a thought,

and somehow the room feels rewritten—

edges softened,

colors fuller,

everything bending toward possibility.

Not a spark anymore,

but a steady burn,

a clarity that sweeps through me

without asking permission.

It’s the moment I understand

this isn’t chance,

or timing,

or any of the excuses we hide behind.

It’s connection,

real,

undeniable,

the kind that gathers two hearts

into the same rhythm

even if they started miles apart.

You don’t just brighten my world;

you steady it,

shape it,

fill it with a warmth

that feels like coming home

after searching too long.

And when I lean into you,

I swear the whole sky

leans with me.