You Pulled Me In

You pulled me in,

not with force,

but with a quiet gravity

I didn’t know I would follow.

We were surrounded by green,

breathing leaves,

soft petals opening to light,

the hush of a botanical garden

where even time seemed to slow

just to watch us.

Nature was there,

alive, beautiful, endless,

but it faded,

softly, completely,

as if it understood

it was no longer the center.

You pulled me in.

Closer than the air between us,

closer than thought,

until the world narrowed

to the rhythm of my breath

and the quiet storm

you stirred inside me.

I trembled,

not from fear,

but from the way you saw me,

the way your presence

unraveled every careful layer

I had ever worn.

And then,

your hands.

Warm, certain,

wrapping around me

like silk velvet,

soft enough to soothe,

strong enough to hold.

The romance you gave

was not loud,

it was intimate,

a quiet claiming

of a moment

that belonged only to us.

It felt hidden,

like we had stepped

outside the world,

into a space untouched

by anything but us.

No voices.

No movement.

No time.

Just you,

pulling me closer,

as if distance

had never been allowed to exist.

Your touch lingered

like something sacred,

like something that knew

how deeply it would stay.

And in that garden,

where everything was meant to bloom,

it wasn’t the flowers

that opened.

It was me.

You pulled me in…

and for a moment

that felt endless,

I forgot

how to ever be

anywhere else.