In passing days and moonlit hours, Our words took root like budding flowers. From simple talks our spirits knew a quiet bond that slowly grew. What first was friendship, soft and kind, soon stirred a deeper truth to find. Until our hearts, both brave yet shy, walked toward love that time drew nigh. Who would have thought, in dreams so far, that he I watched from a distant star, Once just a crush, a fleeting glance, Would now approach with bold advance? From quiet longing, hidden, shy, To gentle courtship drawing nigh My heart can scarce believe its luck, That fate has turned my dreams unstuck.
When he asked if he might court my heart, How could I say no, not from the start? With joyful words, I gave consent, and in that moment, my heart was spent.
Then with respect and gentle care, He sought my parents, their blessing to share. A step so tender, true, and kind, A love both patient, pure, and blind.
To be with him, or glimpse his face, fills my soul, my heart, my space. Around me, people ask and pry, "Why him?" they question, or wonder why. They say he may not be for me,
But my heart knows what it wants to see. I love him not for gifts or might, Nor beauty that first caught my sight. I love him for the soul I feel, For love so tender, pure, and real.
Valentine's came with gentle cheer, But all I cherished was having him near. No flowers, treats, or letters to write, Could match the warmth of being in his sight. Just his presence made my spirit soar. That day with him, I wanted no more.
Though busy hours claim his day, and fleeting are the times we stray, My heart finds peace in knowing well that he is safe, that all is well. Each whispered tale of what he's done
Brings light that rivals any sun. Though rare our moments, brief our stay, His presence lingers through my day.
I cannot say that love is slain, For still he walketh through my vein; Yet something shifts in silence deep, Where once my soul was his to keep. He standeth near, yet far from sight, A shadow cloaked in fading light; Not gone, not lost, yet not the same, A voice once warm, now scarce a name. Our words, once bright as morning's fire, Now fall like ash of lost desire; Each greeting weak, each answer thin, As though he dwelleth not within.
I sought to grasp what once was true, Yet found him drifting from my view; Not with a storm, nor cruel decree, But in his growing distance from me.
And when I stood in trembling thought, No question made, no answer sought; For three long weeks of silent night Had dimmed the warmth of former light.
No words had passed, no call, no sign, As though he drifted far from mine; And I, in silence, bore the strain, Of loving what grew less than pain.
Till on a day, so still, so cold, He spoke of things unsaid, untold; No summons made my voice that day, Yet truth arrived and would not stay. Across the void of distant call, Where sound was small and light seemed all; He met mine eyes through screen and air, As though he stood yet was not there.
"I feel no spark," he gently said, No anger there, no words ill-bred; Yet in that truth so cold, so clear, My heart did break though none stood near. No warning came, no breaking sign,
Just silence stretched too close to time; And what had once been love's own flame Now barely dared to speak its name.
So silence clothed me like a stone, Though all within me cracked alone; And I, who burned in quiet pain, Spoke lightly, as if all were plain. No plea escaped, no breaking sound,
Though something in me hit the ground; I chose a calm I did not feel, To keep what shattered from being real.
No trembling voice, no outward sign, Betrayed the ruin deep in mine; For every word I let arise Was masked behind composed replies.
I nodded soft, as though in peace, As if such pain could grant release; Yet in my chest, unseen, unheard, Lay worlds destroyed in just one word. He saw me still, yet knew me not,
Nor what that silence truly wrought; For I became, in that short span, A version he could understand.
When once the call had ceased its breath, And silence deepened still as death;
No ending spoke, no final sign Yet something fractured deep in mine.
The screen grew dim, yet I remained, As though my waiting could be framed; As though persistence might restore What slowly slipped through every door. And yet I told myself, I'll stay, I'll chase the warmth that fades away; I'll speak, I'll reach, I'll bridge the space
Where silence now has left its trace.
So I did not withdraw my hand, Though I no longer understand; I sent my words into the night, Like candles lit against the blight.
But answers came in lesser form, As though my voice no longer warmed Short replies, delayed, restrained, As if my presence only pained.
And still I tried with measured grace, To bring again that softer place; To make him laugh, to make him see The spark I feared was lost in me.
Yet even effort, pure and true, Could not revive what once we knew For where I gave, he gave away, In ways too quiet to betray.
And I, who would not let it fall, Kept knocking softly on that wall; Though every echo came to show He was already letting go. Still not a break, nor spoken end, No line that claimed we could not mend Just me, still reaching through the air, To someone half not even there.
And still I remained, though still, though torn, By love half-kept and love half-lorn;
Not all is closed, not all is done, For this is still a tale begun.
There are words I cannot yet define, Pages unfinished, not yet mine; For life, in silence, pulled away, Yet still I find a reason to stay. And though the story lacks its end,
And though the heart still tries to mend I cannot hide what I have known I was not writing this alone.
To the eight thousand who have read These fragile lines I once had bled Though incomplete, though not yet whole, You carried still this trembling soul.
In every view, in every stay, in every word you chose to read each day I felt a warmth I cannot fake. A quiet strength I did not make. So even if this tale stands still, Unfinished by my shaken will Still I am grateful, deeply so, For all the love you chose to show.
And though I do not yet know when, These words may find their end again;
For now I write, and this I say Thank you for reading me this way.
END.