The night wraps around my room like a slow song.

I sit by the window,

its glass cool beneath my fingers,

watching the moon spill its light across rooftops

like it’s searching for something,

maybe someone.

You.

Your voice lives in this room now—

woven into the quiet hum of my phone,

echoing through the soft vibrations

that signal: you’re here, even when you’re not.

Sometimes I forget what silence sounded like

before your name filled it.

We’ve never touched.

Not skin. Not breath.

Only voices—

traded like secrets

in the gravity between screens,

between time zones and sleepless nights.

I look at myself in the mirror across the room.

But I don’t see me.

I see all the pieces you’ve sent—

your words,

your laughter,

your gifts wrapped in too much care.

Like that hippo you mailed,

its tiny arms forever open,

its hoodie stitched with your name.

I take it out often,

but the hoodie stays off—

not because I don’t love it,

but because I do too much.

It makes my chest ache in that quiet,

tender kind of way.

The way you ache

when love feels too big to hold alone.

You spoil me,

and I always say you shouldn’t.

But your voice only softens when I protest.

“This isn’t spoiling,” you say.

“It’s just me,

trying to be near you

in the only ways I can.”

The mirror reflects a version of me

I’m still learning to recognize—

someone who waits,

who hopes,

who holds stuffed animals like they carry

the scent of a voice.

And the window shows a world

that still separates us,

but not for much longer.

Every day, I stare through both—

the mirror to remember,

the window to dream.

The mirror tells me

what this love has made of me:

more patient,

more open,

more vulnerable than I ever thought I’d be.

The window whispers what’s coming:

you,

in the doorway,

arms not made of cotton or pixels or longing—

but real.

Soon,

I’ll watch the window fog

as your breath meets mine.

Soon,

the mirror will reflect us

together—

no longer imagining,

no longer waiting.

Until then,

I’ll hold the moonlight close,

wrap my arms around this small hippo heart,

and carry you with me

through every pane of glass

we’re destined to shatter

when love finally arrives

in the room.