What If

What if we met again
as if for the first time —
not with memory,
but with wonder?

No past to carry,
no silence to bridge,
just the pull of something
that never really left.

What if your eyes found mine
and forgot what we never said —
but remembered
what the body whispered
when the world fell away?

What if the air between us
held something tender and near —
like breath,
like prayer,
like the space that only opens
when everything becomes clear?

And if your hand found mine —
not out of habit,
but in perfect time —
would the ground between us
open again
like a rhythm,
like a sign?

Would something in me
still stir at the sound of your voice —
not for what it was,
but for what it calls forth now?

And what if we didn’t go back,
but forward —
not to repeat,
but to root
into something quiet
and finally
real?

What if we met again
not to return,
but to begin —
more honest,
more open,
more undone
than ever before?