"You saw it coming" is usually what people say after something has gone wrong: a collapse, a sacking, a breakup. amone's four lines open with that idiom and then turn it. Nobody gets blamed. The speaker adds, "and so did i." Neither person was ambushed. Whatever "it" was, both watched it approach.
The poem never says what "it" is, and this is its first quiet trick. Because the idiom leans toward bad news, and because the last line is in the past tense ("there was"), many readers will fill the gap with an ending. But "coming" could just as easily point to a beginning, an attraction both people could see building. The poem doesn't settle it, and I'd suggest that is the point. From a distance, the start and the end of a relationship can look like the same shape moving toward you.
The central idea sits in the last two lines, as a small piece of reasoning. "So i guess there was some kind of / you and i." The word "so" presents a conclusion: because we both saw it, there must have been something between us. Shared foresight is the only evidence offered. That is a slightly sad inversion. We normally assume closeness comes first and understanding follows. Here closeness is deduced afterward, from the fact that two people had been reading the same signs. The "i guess" softens the claim into a shrug, though a shrug can be a way of holding something heavy at arm's length.
The line break does a lot of the work. "Some kind of" dangles at the end of line three, and the reader waits for a noun: connection, understanding, love, anything. What arrives is "you and i." The two pronouns become the noun, so the relationship has no label except the two people. Every ready-made word would have been too large or too definite, so the speaker settles for the plainest one. "Some kind of" is a hedge, but it also makes the relationship hard to dismiss. Something existed, even if it can't be named.
The poem's shape follows the same retreat. Counted by syllables, the lines run five, four, eight, three. The first two balance like a statement and its echo. The third stretches as the speaker fumbles toward a conclusion, and the fourth shrinks to almost nothing. There is no conventional rhyme, but lines two and four both end on "i," so the poem rhymes by repetition, with the speaker's own voice coming back at the end.
The pronouns also move in a pattern. "You" is the very first word. "I" turns up at the end of line two, trailing behind like an afterthought. Only in the final line does "and" join them. In that sense the grammar acts out the pairing the poem is describing. The lack of punctuation and capitals, even for the "i," makes the speaker sound modest and unguarded. Without a full stop, the poem doesn't close so much as stop. The title, a row of three asterisks, is a mark often used for an untitled piece or a pause. Judging by that and by the opening, we seem to walk in partway through a conversation or a thought.
The text gives us no names, no setting and no date, and I won't guess at them. The poem offers only a voice. Its significance lies in how much it carries with so little. There is almost no imagery beyond the faint forward motion of "coming," and not a single descriptive word. The speaker never says "i loved you" or "it hurt," yet the hedges and the shrinking last line suggest both feeling and an effort to keep it small. For a student reader, it shows how line breaks, repetition and pronouns can carry real emotional weight when nothing else is on the page.