Like She’d Lost Me

Something’s different about her tonight. It’s in the way she looked at me before she kissed me — like I’d slipped away from her once and somehow found my way back. That kiss didn’t feel like a beginning. It felt like a memory. Like she’d done it a thousand times in her head and was finally brave enough to make it real. And after, she held my hand like she was afraid to let go, like I’d vanish if she blinked. I tried to joke, to ask her what changed. She smiled, but there was something behind it — relief, maybe. Or heartbreak.

She’s quieter now, like she’s thinking a lot and trying not to say it. But she keeps looking at me like I’m still here because she finally said something. I don’t get it. Not completely. But I know what I felt. And whatever this is — whatever brought her to this moment — I’m not taking it for granted. Not this time.

Have you ever had one of those moments, Anonymous, where someone suddenly looks at you like they’re seeing you for the first time? Like all the words they never said were just waiting for that exact second? Maybe that’s why we wait so long sometimes — because we’re scared of how much we want something, or how much we might lose if we try.