She asked for space,
    and the world got quiet.

The night turned long,
    and silence filled
    all the places

    her presence usually touches.

The silence—
    soft,
    careful,

    *deafening*.

But we've been here before.

I know the distance,
    know the shape of waiting,
    the careful dance of holding back,
                      of giving room,

    of trusting in the space between us.

Because every time
    we've stepped apart,
    we've found our way back—

    closer,
    stronger,

    more *honest*.

She asked for room,
    for air,
    for quiet—

    and I'm not afraid to give it.

It's not easy—
    this holding still,
    this quiet waiting,

    trusting that space won't turn into emptiness.

But sometimes…
    distance isn't separation,
    but clarity—

    and the silence is just another way to speak.