into the night
and your hands seem
ever so soft
and your arms
tend to drift
beside your waist
and i watch you
move from where i leave you
like distance can happen
before either of us notices
like a body can remain close
while something else
begins to wander
we take walks in evenings
between steps on sidewalks
the pavement warm beneath my feet
and everything feels
so close to feeling like this
the air around us
the little space between our arms
the way our shadows move
almost touching
before we ever do
and i think there is something
in walking beside someone
without needing to arrive
the streets continuing
the lights changing
the sound of our steps
finding the same rhythm
for just long enough
to make the night feel softer
we blend together
like words stuck in nostalgia
and i’m blurring my time
before i could ever bend like this
twisting between everything
we said
and everything we could have
the words that found their way out
and the ones that stayed
somewhere behind our mouths
waiting for a quieter moment
i take the little things
and hold them longer
than they probably ask me to
the way you turn
the way your hands move
the pause before you speak
how something so ordinary
can follow you home
and become something larger
once the room goes quiet
it takes two to tango
and i burn in this feeling
to expand into what i might
what we might
what this could feel like
if the moment stretched
just a little farther
than we expected it to
if the song kept playing
past the point
where either of us
was supposed to leave
and maybe that is the thing
with movement
you do not always know
when the dance begins
sometimes you only notice
when your body already knows
where to turn
where to pause
where another hand
might have been
there is simplicity
in the way we carry this
in the warmth between two people
when neither has to explain
why they are standing so close
when silence does not feel empty
and the night does not ask
for anything more
than what we are already giving it
and the air feels like a softness
that words cannot quite hold
the emotion in my being
the warmth beneath my skin
hands that can grip
and still know how to be gentle
like words that touch
without ever being spoken
like echoes in the wind
that leave the sound behind
but somehow
keep the feeling moving
i think of how some moments
never ask to become memories
they simply become them
the sidewalk
the warmth
the space between us
the way i looked at you
without needing to know
what came next
and maybe i like it there
in that little distance
between knowing
and wondering
between your hand
and mine
between what we said
and what the night
kept for itself
because sometimes
the softness is enough
the walking is enough
the song is enough
and sometimes
to feel something moving
beside you
without knowing
where it will go
is what makes you
want to follow it