Unbidden

At the party you went white,

and I was close enough to catch you.

My hand on your back, my fingers

threading through your hair

without hesitation, without thinking—

just doing what hands do

when someone is falling.

This is how closeness arrives:

not through invitation but through need,

your body giving way and mine

becoming the only thing between you

and the floor.

You leaned into my grip.

I felt the weight of your trust

like a small bird in my palm.

When it passed, you thanked me

as if I'd done something brave

instead of simply been there,

fingers still tangled in your hair,

holding you upright

until you could hold yourself.

I can't stop thinking about it—

the back of your neck, so thin,

how much you leaned into my hand,

how easily I could have let go.