The Way You Move

The pen scrapes on the paper.
I outline the way you make me feel
a single line, followed by another.
Soon, they connect in a shaded silhouette.

This paper, a sanctuary
of a promise you don’t know exists,
caught between dreams and reality.
This is a rough draft—bold,
every mistake without a place to hide.

You become more alive
with every flick of my wrist.
The pen shakes, outlining your laugh.
I drew you as best I could
ink-stained, bursting through the margins,
drawing myself last.

Where your single hand swings free,
I smudged mine with yours.
No matter where you are,
in this moment, you’re here
raw and real between the lines.

Regardless of where you are,
I drew you closer.