You’re an enigma wrapped in beauty.
A question I keep answering wrong,
a language I almost understand
until you change the meaning mid-sentence.
You say come closer
without ever speaking,
then drift just far enough
to make me doubt I was invited at all.
You lift me.
Like I was meant to stay weightless,
like nothing below me matters,
like falling was something that happens to other people.
Then somehow, in the same breath,
I’m dropping.
No warning, no ground in sight,
just the echo of what you almost said.
We are mirrors that won’t align,
gestures misread, timing misplaced,
two people fluent in silence
but strangers in truth.
And still,
when we’re close,
when the distance forgets to exist,
when the world quiets enough to let us be,
there’s comfort.
Not clarity,
not certainty,
not anything that lasts.
Just comfort,
like we’ve found something real
we don’t know how to keep.