I’ve watched you sleep,
your silent breaths rising and falling
like the moonlit tide that pulls me toward you.
I have counted the freckles on your skin,
mapped them like constellations,
traced the lines of you in the darkness.
You do not see me.
At least, not in the way I see you
as something sacred, something infinite.
I live in the spaces between your thoughts,
in the quiet moments when our hands
hover just before touching,
when your lips part but do not speak.
I want to be the air that fills your lungs,
the weight that steadies your steps.
Let me in.
Let me love you
the way the moon loves the tide—
pulling, pulling,
always pulling you home.
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