He spoke with the kind of steadiness
that drew me toward him without asking.
Every word brushed against the edges of my fear
until it finally quieted.
The air between us changed
not heavy, just full,
like it could hold everything I’d been afraid to say.
I felt it in the way his presence pressed against mine,
not demanding, just there,
like gravity.
My guard slipped,
slow and deliberate,
and I let myself melt into the nearness of him.
Each breath felt like a confession
I’d never found the words for.
He didn’t promise forever;
he just stayed,
and somehow that was enough
to make me want more.
Maybe this is what desire feels like
when it isn’t born of fear
a steady pulse,
a soft surrender,
the body remembering
that it can feel safe
and hungry
at the same time.