I saw something move in your eyes when I spoke your name—
not a glance, not a trick of light,
but a quiet recognition neither of us could explain.
It was as if the silence cracked,
and for a moment I could see past the walls you’ve carried for so long.
You keep your distance,
yet I feel the pull of you in every pause.
We invent stories to explain this space between us,
but they never hold.
Truth presses harder than the fictions we repeat.
Your presence is not new to me.
I know the weight of your touch,
the way it steadies and burns at once.
Somewhere, in another life,
we stood in this same place,
learning the same lesson of recognition.
So here we are again—
the dream thinning,
the real world asking us to step forward.
No disguises.
No distance.
Only the unfinished thread,
waiting for us to pick it up.
