I have been thinking

I have been thinking, well—about everything.

I have been thinking about how I walk for two hours straight,

never breaking a sweat,

but the moment you drift away,

my body forgets how to breathe.

I have been thinking about how I stay calm

in the chaos of near-collisions,

steel and speed inches from my skin,

but silence from you feels like dying—

slow, certain, suffocating.

I have been thinking about this fear of losing you,

how it wraps around my chest like wire,

how I clutch so tightly at what we have

that I crush the very moments I'm trying to save,

and lose you in my desperate grip.

I have been thinking about all the ways I try to love you—

the words I choose, the gestures I make,

convincing myself it's enough,

that I'm enough,

yet knowing deep in the hollow of my heart

that the truest love might be

the one that sets you free,

even if it shatters me.

I have been thinking about how I give you everything

except the one thing you might need most:

space to breathe without my shadow,

silence without my echo,

a life that isn't weighed down by my need.

I have been thinking—

not in lines or logic,

but in spirals and circles,

always returning to the same truth:

I am afraid.

Afraid of the distance.

Afraid of the nearness.

Afraid of holding on.

Afraid of letting go.

I have been thinking,

and in all this thinking,

there is only one constant—

You.

Always you.