A Soul

The way you looked at me—

as if I’d already told you everything

without saying a word—

that’s when it started.

Not a collision,

but a quiet unraveling

of the ache I didn’t know I carried,

thread by thread,

you spun light into the heavy corners.

We were two halves

not searching,

but orbiting—

drawn like myth remembers moonlight,

even when the sky is burning.

You touched my laugh

before you touched my hand.

Made stillness feel brave.

Made silence feel earned.

There were no grand promises,

only the weight of your presence

and the way it turned

ordinary air into something

I could almost drink.

And then—

yes, here is the turning—

when the world tilted,

when distance tried to thieve

what time had sewn between us,

I didn’t lose you.

Because real things

don’t vanish.

They echo.

They wear your hoodie.

They live in the way I leave space

for someone else to be real, too.

The way I speak softer now,

like memory deserves

its own kind of reverence.

You weren’t just someone.

You were the reason

I stopped looking.

The why behind my stillness.

And I don’t say forever—

I say true.

And in that truth,

I keep you

like a secret

that glows.