The Space Between

The silence between our sentences holds more than words ever could— a breath, a hesitation, the weight of what we almost say.

Light moves through afternoon windows touching dust motes that dance in no particular direction, each grain catching gold before it falls again.

Your hand rests on the table. Mine rises to meet it, but there is a moment— just a moment— where the space between us feels infinite.

This is where we live, in the pauses, in the tender gaps where everything unsaid becomes everything.