Some things just fit.

Like hands interlaced—
    fingers that find their natural home—

    effortlessly, perfectly.

Or… conversations that wind easy,
    voices matched in rhythm,
    words falling into place,
         one after the other,

    as if they’ve always belonged.

Her mind—
    sharp edges that complement mine,
    ideas sparking,
       challenging,

    building something new— together. (something *real*)

And then—
    the way our bodies meet,
    skin and bone matching like puzzle pieces,

    every curve,
    every breath—

    there's never been a more perfect fit.

It's a confirmation: This was meant to be.

And it's funny—
    how easily we found it.

As if every misstep before,
      every near-fit,
      every almost-right,

      was just practice for this.

We…
   fit
      in every way that matters—

      and maybe a few we’ve yet to discover.