It didn’t happen.
But it could have.
And that “could”
still glows
in the dark of me.
We never kissed.
But there was a second
when your breath
found mine
not touching,
just measuring the space
where it might.
That second
lasted longer
than entire nights.
We didn’t say it.
But the air between us
knew.
Not the meaning,
but the weight.
And maybe
that’s the truest kind of intimacy -
the one that doesn’t insist,
just lingers.
What didn’t unfold
still forms me.
Not as memory,
but as shape.
A bend in how I move.
A shadow I do not fear.
A pause
I’ve learned to live inside.