We talked until the wine dried
and the room blurred into hush.
Our friends had long sunk
into sleep and cigarette ash.
You lit one too̶
outside, by the small window
with your thoughts as your only company.
I watched you from the window.
Half-shadowed.
Half-mine.
Your lips wrapped around the filter
like theyʼd been made for sin
but your eyes̶
your eyes were too sad
for a man who says heʼs fine.
You came back in,
still smelling like wine and smoke,
and something only you could carry̶
that vanilla-something warmth
thatʼs haunted me
since that first night.
I didnʼt drink.
Not a drop.
But your presence made me dizzy anyway.
I fell asleep
with your scent
draped over the silence.
And when i woke up,
you were there.
Next to me.
Not a touch.
Not a kiss.
Not even a fucking cuddle.
Just two bodies
sharing the same tired mattress,
in the same soft darkness,
breathing too loud
for something that was
"just friendship."
I turned,
slowly,
studying your features̶
the strong nose,
the messy lashes,
the cigarette-stained fingers
resting too close
to mine.
You didnʼt move.
not even when i whispered your name
in my head.
God,
I wanted to crawl into your arms.
wanted you to press that mouth
to my neck,
to my grief,
to the truth iʼd never say out loud.
But you didnʼt.
and i didnʼt.
Just smoke between us,
and all the words
we chose not to say.
And in that stillness,
i wondered
how the hell you made silence
feel this intimate.
And why it broke me
more than love ever could.