Sometimes I wonder if you feel the ache in the same places I do. If you hear the pause in my voice and know it’s carrying everything I cannot say.

I’ve memorized the way you look away when the closeness gets too loud. We retreat, not because we don’t care, but because we care too much to risk what’s left unbroken.

The space between us is full of what-ifs and almosts. But we treat it like a sacred place, because to cross it might mean losing even this fragile closeness.

So we offer glances instead of confessions. We sit beside the truth, holding its hand without ever looking it in the eye. Because sometimes, presence is all we can afford without unraveling everything.