After that night, we talked again,
and then again, and then once more.
What started small became the thread
that pulled me back to you before.
Our days began with gentle texts,
our nights with laughter, slow and deep,
until the hours blurred away,
and even silence lost its sleep.
You'd play your games, I'd watch the sky,
our words would drift then softly fade,
but even quiet felt alive,
a language only we had made.
You'd say good morning before the sun,
good night though you were still awake,
and in between those simple words,
I felt the earth beneath me quake.
There was a rhythm, soft, precise,
a world of timing, tone, and grace,
where every sigh, and every laugh,
became a safe, familiar place.
Your voice at night would slow, unwind,
like oceans resting from the tide,
and though you said, "I'm tired tonight,"
you stayed, your calm right by my side.
How strange it was, how small it seemed,
this quiet world we built in screens,
yet somehow it was real enough
to fill the gaps between my dreams.
I told myself it wasn't love,
just comfort born of passing time,
but every word, each glance, each pause,
they lingered like a subtle rhyme.
And still, beneath the warmth, I feared,
the whisper came: This will not last.
Because i've seen this scene before,
the spark that fades, the love that passed.
You said, You think too much again,
and maybe that was true of me,
but how could i not guard my heart
from what i knew it used to be?
You became my morning light,
my evening hush, my in-between,
the peace within my restless chest,
the calm my days had never seen.
And though i never said the words,
I think you somehow always knew,
for sometimes, hearts don't need to speak,
the silence says, I cared for you.