You think she’s retreating.
But she’s really just keeping time.
Older women have a sense of rhythm that isn’t about music—it’s about space, timing, breath.
They’ve lived long enough to know that closeness means nothing if it’s not earned, and distance can speak louder than any declaration.
When she steps back just as you reach out, it isn’t a wall.
It’s a pause.
A deliberate hesitation that lets her measure whether your intention matches your expression.
She’s not punishing you for wanting.
She’s making sure your want is real.
Every movement she makes is part of a language that doesn’t rely on words.
One step closer can mean invitation.
One step away can mean “show me that you understand patience.”
People mistake maturity for caution, but in truth, it’s precision.
She knows that moments become powerful when they’re not rushed.
She gives you half a second to feel absence—to realize that connection depends on attention, not urgency.
So you follow, and she notices.
Not because she enjoys being chased, but because she wants to see if you can move with her, not against her.
If you can feel the rhythm she’s setting without forcing your own beat.
Eventually, she’ll stop moving.
And if you’ve learned to listen to the pace she keeps, you’ll find yourself standing in the same rhythm—breathing together, without needing to close the distance entirely.
That’s what she was waiting for.
Not surrender.
Synchronization.