🖤 The Hours Between Our Hunger

Time moves differently between us.

It bends, stretches, holds its breath —

waiting for the next touch, the next word we never say out loud.

There’s a kind of ache that grows

in the spaces we don’t fill.

A silent wanting that tastes like restraint,

like devotion disguised as distance.

We sit together,

pretending the air isn’t thick with everything we’re not saying —

every look, every almost,

every second that hums with what could happen if we just let go.

Because sometimes love isn’t gentle.

It’s the waiting that wrecks you,

the wanting that teaches you how to breathe slower

just to survive the silence.

🖤 A reflection on time as desire —

where presence becomes the most dangerous form of devotion.