#her kitchen

It was your kitchen 2:17 in the morning the overhead light too bright but neither of us bothered to turn it off

You were barefoot standing on cold tile wearing that oversized hoodie that kept slipping off one shoulder like it didn't belong to you either

There was a half-empty bottle on the counter two chipped mugs we never used and a song playing too quietly from your phone speaker something soft, something sad something that made everything feel closer

You were talking about nothing just stories, just noise, just filling space but I wasn't listening

I was watching the way your fingers traced circles on the edge of the countertop the way your smile came and went like you were afraid to keep it too long

And then you laughed really laughed head tilted back, eyes closed and something in my chest shifted so suddenly I had to look away

That was it

Not the kiss that came later not the way you pulled me closer like I was something worth holding it was that moment

Standing there pretending I wasn't already gone already falling already rearranging my entire world around the sound of your voice in a too bright kitchen at 2:17 in the morning

I didn't say anything I just stood there heart beating too loud knowing