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The First Spark

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I wasn’t looking for anything
not a hand, not a moment,
not the kind of spark that rearranges breath.
I was just tired,
carrying a week that felt too heavy for my skin.

Then you spoke.

 

Not with intention,
not with desire,
just the easy curiosity of two strangers
killing time on a concrete planter
while the night unraveled around us.

But fate,
with its blunt humor,
sent a man stumbling into the space between us.
A breath, a brush
and something in the universe
shifted one quiet inch.

We laughed,
escaped the noise,
found the kind of corner table
where the world softens
and conversations start breathing differently.

Somewhere between your questions
and my answers,
something warmed in the marrow of me.
As the party wound down,
your hand found the small of my back
a gentle, guiding touch,
nothing meant,
everything felt.

And just like that,
light flared through a place in me
I thought had gone dim forever.

A single touch,
and all my quiet bones
remembered themselves.

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