The Weight of You

You don’t move like someone chasing attention. You move like someone who already has it. Every step, a gravitational pull. Every glance, a law rewritten.

Even silence answers to you.

There’s something about the way you take up space without apology, like the room was built to hold you and nothing else. You lean back, and suddenly every wall knows its place.

You’re the kind of woman whose presence rearranges the air. The kind who doesn’t have to ask to be wanted. The kind who already knows.

And I’m not the type to lose my footing easily. But with you? Every shift in your posture feels like gravity choosing sides.

You ruin stillness. You make me speak with my hands instead of my voice. Because words fall apart in your orbit.

So go on. Cross the room. Don’t say a word. Let the air buzz with everything we won’t name.

Let me feel the weight of you without needing to lift a single thing.

You’ve already done enough just by being.

And I see you. Good girl.

Not loud. Not demanding. But undeniable. That’s your power.