About Feeling You
On the quiet geography of closeness
I used to think closeness
required a room.
A chair beside mine.
A shoulder within reach.
The small accidental things
bodies do when they forget
they are being watched.
I know better now.
You arrive differently.
In the warmth left on my skin
after I step into the sun.
In cold water against my mouth.
In a sudden breeze
lifting the hair from my neck
with such precision
I almost turn around.
You are there
when a song finds me
in an unfamiliar place.
When something makes me laugh
and my hand reaches instinctively
for my pocket.
Not because you live there.
Because somehow
you live everywhere else.
I carry you through streets
you have never walked,
past windows you have never seen,
under skies we do not share.
And still—
the world keeps finding
small ways
to touch me like you would.
Perhaps distance
is only cruel
when we believe
presence has one shape.
You are not beside me.
And yet
there are days
when I cannot find
a single place
you are not.
-- K
🖤✨️