You are becoming an obsession,
a presence that leans too close
even when the room is empty.
I feel you in the walls,
a faint humming,
like something waiting to break through
or swallow me whole.
You stand so near
that I could reach out
and touch
the quiet tremor of your breath,
prove you are not a fever
or a punishment
sent for reasons I was never told.
Yet each time he purrs,
his voice a chain dragged across stone,
you retreat with a shudder,
or maybe it is I who runs,
afraid of being caught
with the truth still soft on my hands.
I cannot decide
whether I am following you
or being followed by the thought of you,
but the distance between us
shrinks and stretches
like a corridor that refuses
to stay one shape.
Still, you remain,
an ache behind a locked door,
a shadow that knows my name,
an obsession wearing the face
of a miracle
I was never meant to keep.
And I, helpless,
wait for the moment
when you either let me touch you
or disappear entirely,
both outcomes equally
devastating.