You touch my hand like you’re testing the moment,
unsure how long it’s meant to last,
like holding on too tight
might change what’s already good.
Your voice settles into me,
low and careful,
like it knows the ghosts I carry
and chooses not to wake them.
I catch myself smiling at nothing,
at the way your presence
feels like a door left open
on a warm night.
And those glances
where we both know there’s something to be said
but we act like there isn’t,
they echo louder
than words ever could.
You don’t ask for more than I can give,
and still, somehow,
you make me want to give it.
-
Author:
Amandatoriii (
Offline) - Published: October 13th, 2025 07:57
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments2
The desire to give provoked by looks from another nicely expressed in this poem. Well done
Beautiful.
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