it was just a night,
the kind that doesn’t ask to be remembered
yet lingers anyway
in the quiet corners of the day after
you arrived like something unfinished
i somehow knew how to hold
like a sentence i’d been trying to write
long before you spoke
we filled the hours carelessly
with laughter that didn’t belong to strangers,
with silences that didn’t feel empty,
with closeness that forgot its own boundaries
morning found us
before we could name what we were
and maybe that was the mistake
thinking unnamed things
could still survive the daylight
because now
you pass through time
as if nothing ever paused between us
as if there was no night
that bent a little
just to fit the shape of us
and i don’t ask you about it
some truths feel smaller
once spoken out loud
so i keep it where it lives best:
somewhere between
“it meant nothing”
and “it meant everything”
and maybe that’s all it ever was
not something to hold onto,
just something that happened
a little too deeply
for something so brief.
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