I spent the evening thinking about what it would feel like to see you again. Not the first meeting. Not the beginning. Something quieter. Something heavier. A return.
I tried to imagine the moment our eyes meet again. I wondered if I would still feel that familiar pull. The one that used to make me forget everything around me. I think it would come back instantly. Some feelings do not fade. They only wait.
I pictured myself standing close to you. Close enough to touch your face the way I used to. Close enough to study your eyes without rushing. I wonder if I would manage to stay steady or if the old nervousness would rise again. The kind that comes when something matters more than it should.
There is a softness in the idea of returning to you. A quiet takeover that once settled in my heart and never really left. It was never loud. It was never dramatic. It simply filled every space and stayed there.
Your eyes are the first thing I think of. I imagine them in front of me again. Familiar yet overwhelming. I remember how much I loved looking into them long before distance separated us. That memory still carries a sweetness that hurts a little. A longing that survived the silence.
Sometimes I imagine kissing your eyes again. Not out of romance. Out of gratitude. As if thanking them for the way they once made me feel alive. As if thanking them for the way they still return to me in thought even after all this time.
I think I am still marked by you. As if something in me was shaped by your presence and never reshaped after you left. There is no cure for it and I do not want one. The longing always knew where it belonged. It knew its way back to you even after the distance.
Writing this feels like opening a door I’m trying to keep closed. Maybe seeing you again would not be dramatic. Maybe it would be a small miracle. A quiet moment where everything I once felt stands in front of me again, familiar and close enough to touch.
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