the evening held its breath

...

we walked beside the river

not touching

but every few steps
the air between us
closing again

water folding
over water

the current
finding itself
twice
then again

your sleeve
brushing silence
from my arm

both of us
pretending
not to notice

the breeze
lifting white linen
off your shoulder
briefly

then settling again

as if even the air
had forgotten
where it belonged

somewhere ahead

a blackbird
started singing

then stopped

the note
left hanging

longer than it should have

you said something

small

ordinary

and I heard myself
answer

my lips parting
to speak

a second too late

the river
catching light
through your hair

and for a moment
I became aware

of something
I’d only imagined

the warmth
inside my hands

the weight
of my own heartbeat

the way your presence
seemed to arrive

just a fraction before
your footsteps did

the river
moving around stones
without holding them

the evening
growing smaller
with each step

your shoulder
close enough now

that I could feel
its warmth

without feeling
its weight

we talked

about small things

the sort of words
that usually pass
straight through an evening

without staying

but now

each silence
seemed to arrive
with us

the path narrowing
for a while

then widening again

as if undecided
which of us
it wanted closer

you pointed
towards something
across the river

and I realised

I hadn’t heard
a single word

after you said
my name

the reeds bent
towards the water

then slowly returned

still carrying
the shape of it

somewhere above us

swallows turning
through the fading light

finding each other

again

and again

and again

while neither of us
could quite explain

why walking
suddenly felt different

the current
pulling at reeds

the wind
lifting strands of hair

and carrying them

somewhere
between us

both of us
finding reasons

to look elsewhere

and neither
finding one
that lasted

once
our eyes met

it became harder
to pretend

the evening

was still about the river

or the path

or the slow turning
of daylight

into something softer

you looked away first

then back

almost immediately

as if the distance
had forgotten
its part in the story

a smile
appeared

then vanished

before either of us
could claim it

the water
slipping around fallen branches

carrying pieces
of reflected sky

further downstream
than they belonged

somewhere nearby

a gate clicked shut

the sound travelling

across the fields

and somehow

finding your pocket

neither of us speaking
for a while

not because

there was nothing to say

but because

something quieter
had already arrived

and neither of us
seemed willing

to disturb it

the river
moving around stones

letting them go

while neither of us

quite could

you looked at me

and this time

neither of us
looked away

the water
still speaking

somewhere below us

the distance
already gone

the evening
holding its breath

the first stars

appearing slowly
above the river

as though they too
were reluctant

to interrupt

whatever this was

the water
darkening now

holding pieces
of the sky

between its hands

the path ahead
still unfolding

yet neither of us
seemed in any hurry

to discover
where it ended

your name
resting quietly
inside my thoughts

becoming something more

each time

I whispered it
to myself

while the last light
slipped gently from the fields

taking the excuses with it

until all that remained
was the river

the evening

and the feeling
of standing

on the edge

of something

neither of us
was ready

to leave

till the morning

ㅤ

---

From now until the Summer Solstice on June 21st, paid subscriptions are 50% off.

If you’ve been enjoying these quieter pieces, this is a gentle invitation to step a little closer.

Somewhere to pause for a while.

Step inside.

I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.

Something more from me?

Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.

---

All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery