#conection

There are things that refuse to become a straight line

no matter how much life tries to shape them into one

between him and her

there is a place without instructions

without arrival

without a name that fully belongs to it

he speaks like someone who learned early how to hold everything inside

carefully

quietly

as if feeling too much was something to be managed rather than shown

and still

sometimes

it slips through anyway

in small truths he doesn’t fully manage to hide

she arrives like weather that never fully decides what it is

soft some days

restless on others

always real

even when she tries to make it sound lighter than it feels

they do not match in the easy ways

nothing about them was designed to align neatly

and yet

they recognize each other

he sees in her what most people miss

not only what she shows

but what she tries to keep behind her silence

as if he has learned the shape of her unspoken things

and she feels in him something steady

not loud

not promised

but present

in a way that makes distance feel less absolute

there is a language between them that was never taught

made of pauses that carry meaning

of sentences that continue long after they end

of moments that return without being called

and even when they misunderstand each other

even when timing slips between them

something remains intact underneath it all

not destiny

not certainty

not a plan that knows where it is going

just continuity

as if, despite everything that separates them

there is always a part of each

that quietly recognizes the other

and calls it home