There was something in your kiss,
something lingering on your lips.
I was fully engaged, laughter filled my heart,
and in your kiss—
a hint of maybe, a trace of if.
A whisper of doubt beneath the spark,
a question dancing in the dark.
Your touch felt warm, your words felt true,
yet something flickered I never knew.
It lived between your breath and mine,
in pauses stretched too thin with time,
in half-formed words you didn’t say,
that slowly pulled my faith away.
Still I stayed within the glow,
pretending I did not quite know
that love can bloom and still resist—
can live inside a “maybe” kissed.
So I held on to what was there,
the laughter light, the tender air,
while in your lips, so soft, so stiff,
I tasted both the why… and if.
Letters from Xhale the magazine Words that breathe. Stories that Linger, 