The day was loud—
    steak sizzling,
    bottles clinking,

    jokes traded like currency over charcuterie and clericot.

Friends laughing too hard
    at things no one will remember.

The good kind of noise.

She was quiet.

Hair Day silence.

I knew the rhythm—
    brief pings,
    soft flares on the radar,

    presence without pressure.

Then midnight struck,
    and she came alive.

    Her mind running on the midnight shift—
    While mine clocked in at dawn.

Not just awake—
    *switched on.*
    Thoughts crisp,

    words fluid,

    every message another spark in a dark room…

    I hadn’t realized I was waiting in.

What started as a spark,
    became a symphony—
    a shift in tone,
    a shift in tempo,

    like the click of perfectly meshed gears.

And there she was—
        brilliant,
           biting,

    engaged like a current I could barely keep up with,
    Held me—

    long past the hour reason would’ve called it quits.

I was exhausted—
  up since dawn,
     head heavy—

  but she kept me wired,
              wide-eyed,

  hooked on the flow of her mind in motion.

I don’t see her like that often.
  It was rare.
  It was riveting.
  It was beautiful.

By the time I said goodnight,
  I was too tired to type what I really meant:

You fascinate me.

Still.

Always.