The night before something big.

The last slow breath before the leap.

There’s a weight to it,
        a quiet hum under the skin,

        a knowing.

Tomorrow changes everything.

Or maybe nothing at all.

But it won’t feel the same.
    Not after the wait,
    not after the wanting,
    not after the words

    that built bridges out of miles
           and meaning out of time.

Tonight is the threshold.

The final hours
    before the air shifts,
    before the space between us

    isn’t space anymore.

Tomorrow,
    it becomes real.

And if there’s a word for this—
    this restless,
         electric,

    slow-burning certainty—

I don’t need to say it.

We don't need to say it.

It's just there.

*Always*

I already know…
               And you?
                       — you know.