The Space Between Two Hands Almost Touching

There is a silence
that hums louder than thunder—
the breath between heartbeats,
the blink before tears.

Fingertips hover,
as if the air itself were sacred,
as if one more inch
might collapse the moment
into something too real
to take back.

We are
almost.
Not yet.
A single gesture
from rewriting history.

In that space
lives everything—
the question,
the fear,
the wanting,
the restraint.

It is the pause
that lovers write sonnets about,
the ache
between goodbye and don’t go.

Two hands,
so close,
holding the weight
of everything unsaid.