Three Hundred Love Poems

The elevator starts again. Numbers gather above the door.

Still, neither of us moves. Your thumb rests near my knuckle, not claiming, only learning the shape of trust.

When the doors part, you let go slowly, as though warmth could be carried forward by the smallest delay.

---

Held Between Words

You say, “I remember,” and look at me until the sentence has nowhere else to go.

The room is full of unfinished things: a jacket over the chair, three unread messages, water cooling in a glass.

Still, your gaze makes a clear space.

I remember the first time you spoke my name - not perfectly, but with care, as if each sound deserved a place at the table.

Now you say it again.

The syllables cross the narrow distance between us, and your hand finds mine without searching.

For a moment, nothing needs repair. The silence holds. Your eyes do not leave.

---

The Signal

At the corner, the crossing light changes. You stand on the opposite curb, one hand lifted against the late bus, your face caught briefly in its yellow reflection.

I know you before the distance closes.

Not by your coat, not by the book beneath your arm, but by the way your eyes find mine through passing bodies.

You mouth my name. I cannot hear it, yet I understand.

Then you cross, careful over the painted lines, and offer your hand as though the whole street had been waiting for this.

I take it.

The bus pulls away. The signal begins to blink. Your palm stays warm, and the world, for once, gives us time.

End of chapter one. 5 more chapters in the full book.