The Space Between Two Hands Almost Touching

There is a silence that hums louder than thunder— the breath between heartbeats, the blink before tears. Fingertips hover, as if the air itself were sacred, as if one more inch might collapse the moment into something too real to take back. We are almost. Not yet. A single gesture from rewriting history. In that space lives everything— the question, the fear, the wanting, the restraint. It is the pause that lovers write sonnets about, the ache between goodbye and don’t go. Two hands, so close, holding the weight of everything unsaid.