Every breath

I was never sure what lived between us, not a name, not a promise, just that thin air that lingered after you left the room. I’m still not sure. The words dissolve like breath against glass. Maybe we were distance, maybe habit, maybe just two lonely hearts recognizing each other in the dark. I felt you in every inhale, in every door closed softly, in every night pretending not to care. It wasn’t love spoken out loud, it was a quiet presence, a shadow keeping pace one step behind me. For a while, every breath felt borrowed, like it belonged to the space you occupied without touching. But tonight I don’t tremble. I’m not measuring silence, not searching for meaning in the pauses. There’s a gentleness now, light as curtains in morning sun. It isn’t certainty, it isn’t answers. It’s just peace. Maybe because I finally stopped holding my breath. And now, at last, I can breathe without looking for something in every breath I take.