Staying Alive

I keep finding you

in the margins of ordinary hours,

like a handwritten note

pressed inside a book I thought I had finished reading.

You feel like a place

my mind travels to

before my eyes open to see

where it I am going.

There is something about you

that slows my instinct to live forever.

With you, I measure life

in depth instead of range and speed.

You radiate a quiet intelligence of feeling.

A world where words are not needed.

You know when presence alone

is the language being spoken.

If we sat across from each other

with no sound between us,

I believe entire conversations

would still proceed.

You feel familiar

in a way that suggests

we have been building towards

each other all this time

through choices neither of us

recognized at the time.

When you move closer to my world,

I feel my direction stabilize,

like a compass needle

finally resting after years of searching.

And there is a rare comfort in knowing

that some connections

do not demand attention to survive.

They grow quietly,

rooting themselves deeper

each time two people

decide to stay alive.