I’m not sure why or how
but you’re definitely different
from what I’ve had before.
You have me searching my shirt
for scented reminders of your presence—
it’s there, just slightly,
just enough to drive me crazy.
Like something invisible
pressing fingerprints into my skin,
soft, warm, lingering
long after you’ve gone.
And I don’t understand it,
how something so quiet
can leave such loud impressions,
how you’ve made a home
in the smallest spaces—
fabric, breath, memory.
And that kiss—
the best I’ve ever known—
still lingers like a secret
I carry on my lips.
I swear I can still taste you,
like something sweet I wasn’t ready to lose,
and when I close my eyes
I can still feel your arms around me,
steady, certain,
like I belonged there
without having to ask.
It feels like I was something
once hardened by time,
set in my ways,
edges already decided—
and then you came in gently,
no force, no rush,
just hands steady enough
to reshape what I thought
couldn’t be changed.
Now I’m softer where you’ve touched me,
warmer where you’ve stayed,
turning slowly beneath your care,
becoming something I don’t quite recognize
but don’t want to lose.
If love is something formed,
then mine is still spinning,
still learning the curve of your hands,
still—
still yours to shape,
still yours to hold,
still yours,
Becoming Clay
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 4:32 PM UTC
I’m not sure why or how
but you’re definitely different
from what I’ve had before.
You have me searching my shirt
for scented reminders of your presence—
it’s there, just slightly,
just enough to drive me crazy.
Like something invisible
pressing fingerprints into my skin,
soft, warm, lingering
long after you’ve gone.
And I don’t understand it,
how something so quiet
can leave such loud impressions,
how you’ve made a home
in the smallest spaces—
fabric, breath, memory.
And that kiss—
the best I’ve ever known—
still lingers like a secret
I carry on my lips.
I swear I can still taste you,
like something sweet I wasn’t ready to lose,
and when I close my eyes
I can still feel your arms around me,
steady, certain,
like I belonged there
without having to ask.
It feels like I was something
once hardened by time,
set in my ways,
edges already decided—
and then you came in gently,
no force, no rush,
just hands steady enough
to reshape what I thought
couldn’t be changed.
Now I’m softer where you’ve touched me,
warmer where you’ve stayed,
turning slowly beneath your care,
becoming something I don’t quite recognize
but don’t want to lose.
If love is something formed,
then mine is still spinning,
still learning the curve of your hands,
still—
still yours to shape,
still yours to hold,
still yours,
Becoming Clay
