Almost Love. ..

I remember the first time someone loved me without a crime, without asking, without a price, soft as sugar, sharp as ice. Two strangers pulled by fate’s thread, glances first, then smiles spread. Fingers tracing my hand, patting my afro like they understand. Her laugh broke out, awkward, bright, her eyes twinkled like firelight. We talked of scars we tried to hide, how boyfriends left us tossed aside. She said I didn’t know my own face, and I thought, "how could she say that place?" She was the glow, the spark, the shine, and yet she lingered, stayed close, stayed mine. Later, panic hit, shaking, tears, bathroom walls echoing my fears. Door opened wide—there she was, arms around me, no pause, no cause. Soft lips kissed mine, and I spun, the world tilted, undone, begun. No asking, no taking, no hidden game, just gentle care, and her whisper of my name. That night, house crowded, hearts awake, she pulled me close, no need to fake. Legs entwined, hands on my waist, kisses soft, fingers tracing space. I closed my eyes, memorized each brush, each little touch, each quiet hush. Every laugh, every stolen glance, every fleeting, impossible chance. Morning came, sunlight poured, curtains opened, grumbles ignored. Phone buzzing, family calls loud, she lingered still, unbowed, unbowed. Then she left, one hug, one kiss, I watched her vanish, gone like mist. And I knew deep down, it’s always the same: love like this doesn’t wait to claim. That’s why we guard, why we hide, why moments like this make the heart collide. Because sometimes the person who shows you love is only meant to pass through, not stay above.