November 14th 2019

9:30 AM

You were there again this morning, like you always are.

You show up to that meeting every week, and part of me believes it's not just routine.

Some quiet instinct between us. A silent loyalty neither of us names.

You listened as we spoke about you leaving again, your patience thinning, the world pulling you elsewhere.

I wanted to tell you that I would understand if you walked away.

But the truth is selfish:

I hope you don’t.

You shared things with me you said you’ve told no one else outside your family.

That startled me; softly, beautifully.

Why me?

What invisible bridge ties your trust to my chest?

There’s a trembling joy when you’re near.

My heart gets lighter, almost buoyant, yet everything around us stays ordinary, as if the universe tries to hide its magic under fluorescent lights.

Please don’t disappear from my orbit.

Not yet.

Not when I’m only just learning how to breathe in the space your presence creates.

12:30 PM

I don’t understand this.

Emotion rises like a tide I never see coming.

A tightening in my throat. A sting behind my eyes.

Why does something so unspoken feel so enormous?

How can a glimmer of connection undo me like this?

This is not logical.

Yet logic feels irrelevant today.

3:00 PM

When our eyes meet, I swear something ancient stirs.

You look at me like you’re reading something written beneath my skin,

and it terrifies me, in the most exquisite way.

Do you feel it too?

This quiet recognition?

This strange, familiar ache?

Or am I the only one haunted by the way your presence rearranges me?