The room is just a shape we’re borrowing tonight
A vault of quiet, holding back the light
You trace the rim of where your glass has been
And I watch the motion, almost give in
To the pull between us—wide and deep and slow
A tide that has no shoreline, just a glow
Your breath becomes a cloud I wish I could keep
Hanging in the silence, soft and steep.

And every inch of air feels weighted, thick and true
A language made of things we almost do
My pulse is in my throat, a silent, steady beat…
A prayer without the words, a slow defeat.

We move like smoke in the stillness
A slow dance on a wire
Burning without a flame, just a deep, dark fire
So close I taste the static, the almost-touch of skin
But we just let the silence settle in
We’re shadows leaning closer, never quite to fall
The most intimate confession—saying nothing at all.

You shift your weight; the floorboard barely sighs
A conversation written in our eyes
The space between our hands feels charged and thin
A fragile peace I don’t dare begin
I feel the warmth you radiate, like sun on winter stone
A harvest of the nearness we have grown
And in this dim-lit, breath-held atmosphere
The thing we don’t say is all I hear.

And every molecule between us feels alive
A tension we are choosing to survive
My pulse is in my throat, that same, familiar plea…
To stay right in this almost-reality.

We move like smoke in the stillness
A slow dance on a wire
Burning without a flame, just a deep, dark fire
So close I taste the static, the almost-touch of skin
But we just let the silence settle in
We’re shadows leaning closer, never quite to fall
The most intimate confession—saying nothing at all.

Is this the shape of wanting? A space that we preserve?
A beautiful, slow ruin we don’t have the nerve to serve?
We orbit like slow planets, gravity our own…
A kingdom made of dusk, and flesh, and bone.
And maybe this is sweeter—the never, not the now…
The endless, tender ache of the unanswered how.

We move like smoke in the stillness
A slow dance on a wire
Burning without a flame, just a deep, dark fire
So close I taste the static, the almost-touch of skin
But we just let the silence settle in
We’re shadows leaning closer, never quite to fall
The most intimate confession…
The most beautiful arrest…
Saying nothing…
Nothing at all.


Almost-Reality

Where silence breaks in neon and dreams decay in code: https://failsafe.space/

Almost-Reality

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