It is never declared – never written out loud, yet it spills between us like the light through a cracked door. Attraction doesn’t ask permission – it seeps. It escapes in the way your gaze lingers a heartbeat too long, in the way my laughter sharpens when you cause it. It hides in silences that feel crowded in words that sound ordinary to anyone else but when exchanged between us.
Neither of us intend it – yet the pull leaks out in gestures, in pauses, in the magnetic tilt of our own bodies that always seem to find each other in the room. It is in the smallest betrayals – the shift of breath when you lean closer, the way my hands tremble as though remembering something it never touched.
And so the attraction becomes its own quick language, unacknowledged but undeniable – a presence we both crave.
Quixotically Perfect 