The quiet way we belong by Unnu Joshi

I crave the kind of closeness born of still,

That enters life unnoticed, learns your will.

No flashing start, no moment pinned in light,

It grows by staying softly, every night.

It teaches flesh before the mind can see,

That something eased is what it means to be.

You loosen grips you didn't know you kept,

Your body trusts before your thoughts have leapt.

It's hands that meet without a second thought,

Beneath the table, found, not ever sought.

No glance, no grin, contact holding ground,

While talk goes on, and life stays gently round.

It's care that never asks to be observed,

A palm that guards the edge you might have curved.

A guiding touch through crowds you barely feel,

Yet later on, your bones recall it real.

It's quiet rooms where silence isn't cold,

Two breaths, one warmth, a story left untold.

The screen flickers on things you do not need,

Your thoughts drift free, yet neither feels the need.

It's being seen when language goes away,

A lowered voice that knows you need a day.

No proving, no explaining what you lack,

Just subtle shifts that gently have your back.

Built slow by habits small the world won't praise,

The same-side bed, the mug, the half-asleep reach stays.

Here love learns shape, in ordinary art,

In saving bites, in knowing where to start.

I want this rest, this chosen, background grace,

Where I can set things down and simply stay in place.