I long for the day we sleep side by side, skin against skin, bone against bone; a completeness that dissolves the border between “I” and “you” without erasing it. That bodily, existential entwining which denies distance, and turns distance itself into another name for closeness.
What sustains my restraint, what lets me wear the mask of stillness, are those sudden tremors that strip me without warning: our chaos folded into a single home, a system that ceases to be a system and descends into layers of mutual intrusion—each of us rewriting the other’s order, becoming simpler, or more intricate, in a vanishing kind of ecstasy.
Our smallest details crash into me, one after another; cups that refuse their place, books open at the middle of thought, clothes neither surrendered nor properly kept—everything slipping away from its first logic into another, governed not by order, but by a silent complicity between two existences that have chosen to remain together, simply.
You, who makes me less definable. in this expanse no longer named a home, neither of us imposes form upon the other. We seep into each other’s habits as breath passes between body and air, until disorder becomes harmony, as though clay were shaped between familiar hands that do not command, only recreate. Chaos sheds its strangeness and becomes a shared structure of being. What was separate reveals itself as a postponed possibility of this interlacing.
There is no longer “I” and “you,” as language once insisted—only a single expanse holding two pulses learning to remain without devouring, to differ without breaking.
In this closeness, the body forgets rest and turns toward the erasure of distance itself. I do not ask for you as presence, but as something that consumes me to the edge of breath. We no longer move toward each other, but toward the collapse of what separates us—the unmaking of definition, the trembling of every idea of independence under contact.
A slow undoing that does not resemble falling, but absorption; one dissolving into the other as though surrender came before motion. Borders rewritten from within until they forget why they existed at all. I do not seek closeness that can be measured—I seek the moment where nearness itself ceases to name anything. I step out of its grammar entirely, until the distinction between us becomes only a delayed illusion, already vanishing at the instant of its becoming.
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