World between us

I wish you could share a moment with me. A moment so quiet it almost doesn’t exist, where silence isn’t empty but full—charged with the weight of what could be. You, here. You, just within reach. I would show you how the morning light pools on the floor, how it climbs up the walls like it’s trying to escape. How it softens everything it touches, like the world itself is sighing. If you were here, I’d watch it soften you too.

Do you know how the sheets feel right now? Cool where I haven’t touched them, warm where I have. They cling to my skin, brushing gently, like the memory of you still lingers. I pull them closer, not for warmth but for something to hold onto. I imagine it’s you, not cotton, not linen. You, in this room, sharing this air, this light. I imagine you turning your head to look at me, your cheek resting on the pillow. The way you would look at me without saying a word, like that’s enough.

If you were here, I’d play you this song. You’d say it’s too sad, that you’d rather listen to something else, something lighter. But you’d let it play anyway because you’d see how much it means to me. And I’d tell you it’s not sad, not really—it’s longing. It’s the way the notes stretch out, just barely reaching the next, like a bridge that keeps building itself as you walk across it. It’s the sound of almost, of what if. It’s the sound of you and me.

I wish you could feel how the music wraps around us, how it fills the room like water, seeping into the cracks, rising slowly. I wonder if you’d move closer, your arm brushing mine, your knee pressing into my thigh. I wonder if I’d be brave enough to reach for you, to let my hand slide across your skin. I’d feel the warmth of you, the softness, the way your pulse beats just beneath the surface, steady and strong, like it’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have.

But we’re not here, not together. There’s a world between us, a whole universe. And yet, I feel you more than I feel anything else. More than the sheets, more than the music, more than the air that fills my lungs. You, somewhere out there, but also here, so close I could touch you if I just reached far enough. I’d give it all to have you here with me, to close that infinite distance between us.

If you were here, I’d tell you how I feel without saying it out loud. I’d let the moment speak for me—the music, the light, the way my hand would find yours without thinking. I’d let the quiet between us say everything I’m too afraid to. I’d hope you’d understand, that you’d feel it too. That you’d know you’ve been with me all along, in every silent moment, in every almost.

I wish you could share a moment with me. But maybe you already are.