๐ŸŒซ️Aeteut(์• ํ‹‹)1; Almost Touched, Never Held

A solitary woman sits in a stark concrete corner, gazing toward the shadow of a bare tree — evoking the delicate ache of a love that never fully arrived

๐ŸŒซ️Aeteut(์• ํ‹‹)1

You touched the sleeve
but never the hand.
The air between us
was velvet and ache,
soft with the absence
of what could have been—
a breath that stayed
on the edge of being taken.

๐ŸŒซ️Aeteut(์• ํ‹‹)1

There was a moment, brief and trembling, when I looked at you, and the world paused. Not from love, but from the almost. Your presence filled the room like a scent that fades before you name it. I didn’t want more. I just wanted to stay in that softness— the unsaid, the unheld, the maybe. That’s what made it beautiful. That’s what made it ache.

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