I don’t know how to explain it. The way I feel pulled toward you, even when I’m doing everything I can to keep my distance. It’s not about fear of you – it’s what you bring up in me. You make something soften. Something I’ve kept locked away for so long, I forgot what it felt like to want to be seen.

I notice how you move slower around me. How you give me space without disappearing. How you read the room without making me feel like a puzzle. You don’t reach for more than I offer. And that restraint – God, it disarms me more than anything else could.

Because when someone’s been careful with your heart before it was ready to be held, you don’t forget that.

But I still flinch. I still hold my breath when your eyes stay on me too long. Not because I don’t like it. But because I do. And that’s what scares me. I’ve spent years building a life where I don’t need anyone. You weren’t supposed to slip through that. But here you are. Standing close, saying nothing – and somehow I feel everything.

So I don’t say it. I keep it in the way I look away too quickly. The way my voice changes when you’re near. The way I linger just a little too long before I walk away.

You probably know. You’ve probably always known.

And still, you stay. Quiet. Steady. Letting me come undone in my own time. Letting me hold both the fear and the pull.

That’s why I can’t let go. That’s why I don’t run, even when part of me still wants to.