Losing Grip

I felt your hand linger, but only a trace, A warmth you once offered now learning its space. Nothing abrupt, nothing tearing apart— Just two fading outlines that once shared a start. I remember your laughter, how near it once stayed, Now drifting like color that’s turning to shade. No anger between us, no reason to blame— Just softer attention that no longer flames. We’re thinning affection, gentle and slow, Not losing each other, just letting it go. If we reach for meaning, it’s light in our grip, Two steady companions beginning to slip. We’re not undone, only learning the feel Of closeness transforming into something more real. I don’t want to bind you or pull you to me— Some bonds don’t break, they just loosen to breathe. Maybe this easing was ours from the start, A soft understanding held close to the heart. No silent collapse, no distance to fear— Just gentler contours that fade but stay near. We’re thinning affection, gentle and slow, Not losing each other, just letting it go. If we reach for meaning, it’s light in our grip, Two steady companions beginning to slip. And yet there’s a freedom in this quiet change, A widening pathway that doesn’t estrange. If we choose new stories, they don’t replace— They simply grow softly beside what we traced. Let the shift guide us with unhurried hands, Trusting the flow only we understand. Whatever we’re keeping, whatever we lose— We’ll follow the shape of what we’re turning into. We’re thinning affection, gentle and slow, Not losing each other, just letting it go. If we reach for meaning, it’s light in our grip, Two steady companions beginning to slip. We’re thinning affection, tender and true, Not ending a story—just changing its view. If you call my name, I’ll still meet your eyes, A softer connection that never quite dies.