Energy never lies—
it hums between the inches of our skin,
where words dissolve into static,
where the squeezing of your arms
speaks louder than apologies ever could.

Your grip isn’t just a hold;
it’s an echo,
a confession pouring
through the tremor of your fingertips.
Each pulse tells a story
you’re too afraid to say aloud.

And your gaze—
a well too deep to measure,
pulling me into waters
I’ve never dared to swim.
It holds me there,
suspended in something heavier than silence,
thicker than time.

You can’t fake the way silence thrums.
Can’t fake the way air thickens
when your presence stakes its claim.
We are magnets pretending we aren’t,
but energy knows better.

It catches us in its grip,
makes liars of our tongues,
but never our bodies.
In the deep lock of a stare,
in the squeeze that lingers too long,
it tells me what you can’t.

And I believe it.