Until one day, fate drew us to that quiet hall, a café alive, yet shadowed under friendship's thrall. I wandered, unknowing, seeking exile from my care, a fleeting refuge from burdens too deep to bear.
And there he stood, unbidden, austere, and near, His calm a subtle tempest, piercing yet sincere. That night we spoke, and to my startled eyes, A quiet gravity shimmered, veiled in his guise.
Later, the night stretched wide, beneath the starlit sky, We stood apart, yet time itself seemed to belie. Then, as if fate's hand carved the moment divine,
He turned to me gently, and posed a line.
I knew not he would come to cross my way, I sought escape from the burdens of the day.And there he stood, unbidden, calm, and bright, A quiet gravity woven through the night.
That evening we spoke, words soft as twilight's gleam, revealing a kindness that surpassed my dream. Alone beneath the stars, the world seemed to bend, Time paused its course, as if it would suspend.
Then, as if fate itself had carved the art, He turned to me gently and pierced my heart: "So… why do you like me?"—the question, a spark, Igniting tremors in the chambers of the dark.
My face flamed hot, my voice sought to hide. I longed to deny, to laugh, to step aside. Yet from my lips slipped a whisper, shy and true, Not all, not too much—just enough to construe.
And all the while, I prayed he would not see the tremor of my hands, my clandestine plea.
When twilight fell and parting drew its veil, He walked me home, though I could tread the trail. My heart, once tempered, shunned all reasoned art, It surged unchecked, a tempest in my heart. Each step beside him rent my thoughts apart, A furtive storm thrumming in the secret chambers of my heart.
Then came his lunch message, a simple plea. My heart skipped fast, surprised by sudden glee. I smiled, yet told myself to stay composed, not every door meant to be disclosed. We shared a table, words both old and new, his past, my past, small laughs that drifted through. Between our stories, time just slipped away, as if the world had paused its usual sway. He named a film before we said goodbye, I watched it later, stars soft in the sky and found it good, though more than just a show, for in its scenes, I felt my feelings grow.
There were moments when a quiet ache would bide, In words he glimpsed, yet chose to hide. I'd sent a message, feathered and slight, Only to meet the hush of "seen" that night.
I told myself he must be bound by care. That patience, too, is love's quiet prayer.
Yet sometimes doubt would softly entwine, Whispering gently was his heart ever truly mine?
With time, our whispers found their gentle stride, neither burdensome, nor too shy to bide. Mostly on Sundays, beneath chapel's soft glow, Small talk that fluttered, tender and slow.
There were days he reached, then silently withdrew, My words left adrift, unanswered, askew. It wearied my heart, yet still I knew, Some feelings bloom quietly, needing no pursue. One languid afternoon, when school's clamor ceased to be, I sank into devotion, a hush wrapping over me. My whispered prayers, like fragile incense, rose and twirled, Yet my thoughts, unbidden, wandered to him, my secret world.
I parted the pages of my diary, velvet and worn, Where ink spills like twilight, soft as the morn. For kin, for self, for hearts I cradle in care, And that day… amidst the prayers, he lingered there.
I penned a prayer for Luke, each word soft and true, Then folded the paper, its edges kissed by dew. Tucked within the Bible, in Luke's sacred part, a secret murmured between God, my heart, and the heart of the charted art. His name, a whisper, written tender and slight,
A quiet covenant between the Gospel and night.
I've learned to treasure the fleeting, whispered hours, A message, a laugh, the light touch of small powers.
Even brief exchanges, so fragile, so slight, Could lift my heart like dawn's first tender light.
One day, emboldened, I sent words long and true, Vowing to overthink not, to misread not his cue. But alas—he left it seen, a silent, fleeting sign, A mere reaction, and yet it pierced this heart of mine.
Of course, a pang of hurt stirred soft and deep, For who could deny the wound that makes one weep? Yet in the quiet chambers of my knowing mind, I blamed myself for hope I was too blind to bind.
One Sunday, suddenly, a coffee emoji appeared. My heart leapt quickly, both startled and endeared. Its meaning veiled, a cipher I could not decode, While I poured my vexed thoughts to God, my secret ode.
I questioned the heavens, frustrated and torn, Why he glimpsed my words, yet left my heart forlorn. A simple symbol, yet it stirred a storm inside, A tiny spark that reason could not wholly guide.
And then—he sent a message, an invite clearly,
"Come share a coffee,"
it read, and my heart leapt near. Yet soon he wavered, suggesting a place more dear, His favored haunt, where laughter and light appear.
So off we went to Pastil, beneath the afternoon's hue, We spoke, we laughed, and my heart wildly flew. Each word a feather, each glance a soft spark, Stirring tremors unseen, fluttering deep in the dark.
Afterward, he spoke of their church's anniversary bright,
"I'll attend,"
I thought,
"I can carve a little night."
I asked him to fetch me, with hope quietly sown, Yet two days passed in silence, my heart left alone.
I quelled expectation, whispering a soft decree, Perhaps he was busy, yet still, it haunted me.
Still, deep within, a murmur shadowed my chest, A muted ache that would not yield to rest. Just yesterday, he summoned me to be near, to guide, to teach, a charge he held sincerely. I answered "yes," with heart both willing and shy, Yet when the task was done, parting drew nigh. He bade me linger, and I obeyed in silence, Each step a measured walk through hidden violence.
My thoughts were tethered to duties I must bear, He may have thought my calm concealed despair. I spake not of the sorrow that trembled so slight, For who am I to mourn in the pale evening light?
He dropped me home, yet lingered, hesitant, near, a whispered invitation, veiled, delicate, sincere. Within my chest, a furtive hope dared to ascend, A quiet yearning, fragile, that I could not defend.
I longed to know him more, each thought a secret flame, To trace, in hushed devotion, the contours of his name. Yet fear clasped tightly, a chain unseen, restraining, And still my soul waited, trembling, silently feigning.
Each step apart left echoes that would not depart, Resonating softly in the hidden chambers of my heart.
But then the sky wept softly, rain draping the street, And he returned to Bethel, our plans incomplete. I lingered alone, heart heavy, a quiet ache, Yearning for the warmth his presence used to make.
To quell the emptiness, I summoned my art, Letting pencil and memory mingle, never apart.
Each line traced the curve of his gentle, secret smile, Each stroke drew him nearer, though only for a while. The paper became a vessel for what I could not speak, a fragile bridge from longing to the solace I seek.
Of late, a brief exchange did pass between us, light and shy, I sent him words both corny, bold and small, foolish try. He answered in kind, yet heat rose to my face, And for a fleeting moment, I longed to leave this place.
Then silence fell again, as it so often will, His time claimed elsewhere, his presence distant still. I wrestled with the echo of words both said and missed, A tender ache lingering, a melancholy twist.
Then came another Sunday, veiled in somber hue, No hope did I summon, no thought to start anew. I skipped the morning service, the youth's resounding cheer, Burdened and silent, my soul heavy with fear.
Yet later he found me, crossing with quiet grace, A greeting so fleeting, yet it quickened my pace. During devotion, fate placed us side by side, I wove walls of silence, though my heart could not hide.
I feared his questioning glance, unspoken, restrained, Yet secret desire within me remained unchained. Each fleeting moment, each whisper of thought, stirred tender longings that time had not forgot.
Afterward, he asked if I were free, And "Yes" slipped forth, unguarded, trembling, silently. Why must the heart stumble in presence of its desire, Kindling secret flames that fate soon douses with fire?
I must confess, vexation pricked my tender core, Not at him, but at my own unquiet, restless store. I had indulged the thought that moments we might share, A stolen conversation, a breath of mutual care.
Yet now, knowing such a wish would not find its way, Frustration bloomed—a shadow at the edge of day. At my own heart I glanced, trembling, ashamed, For daring to hope, for dreaming, unclaimed.
At home I lay, the quiet night around me spread, When suddenly his voice called, soft and full of tread. He might have sought another, yet it was I he chose, A subtle sign, a fleeting nudge that Heaven only knows.
I ponder if divine guidance is clear or veiled, A language whispered gently, yet so oft derailed. He asked of burdens hidden deep within my chest, Yet once the words were spoken, silence took the rest.
'Tis his nature, calm, a river veiled at night, And I, constrained, hold captive every tender light. How dare I bare the stirrings of my secret heart, When oft my words vanish, seen yet set apart?
A restless ache persists, elusive, undefined, A longing quiet, shadowed, tethered in my mind. Each unseen message burns a soft, unspoken flame, A proof that hope and fear are often much the same.
That night, once more, his message traced the quiet air, An apology offered, soft, as if laden with care. I pondered briefly what transgression he might claim,
Yet 'twas but for delay, a tardy note without blame.
By now, I had grown accustomed to these subtle ways, The ebb of his attention, the current of our days. I brushed it off, yet still a whisper clung to me, a trembling, tender echo of what might never be.
Each unseen pause, each pause of gentle light, stirred fragile hope and restless hearts alike. For in the quiet, even the simplest word can bind, And leave a shadowed longing lingering in the mind.
The sting struck sharp when I confessed my time was free, Regret unfurled at once, a silent tide within me. Why had I spoken, why let hope's whisper sway? Perhaps a secret longing nudged my heart that day.
He, too, claimed leisure, a mirrored, fleeting chance, And for a heartbeat, I dreamed of a shared glance. Yet gentle he guided, urging me to remain apart, To tend my own soul first, though it pricked my heart.
Each word, though soft, a tether to desire's flame, A tender lesson wrapped in quiet, unspoken claim. And in that pause, between hope and chastened will, I felt the weight of longing, fragile and still.
So I resolved to still my reaching hand, To starve my hope, to keep my heart unmanned; To step away before old wounds could wake, Before desire could teach my soul to ache.
Yet fate, unkind, returned me to his sight. That day of praise, of songs and borrowed light. I thought him gone, erased from sacred space, Yet there he stood, unguarded, in that place.
At once my vows grew thin, my strength undone, The walls I raised dissolved, undone by one. Each brick of will fell softly, slow, and weak, No thunder cried—just silence learned to break.
And as I turned to leave, resolved, restrained, The door swung wide, my composure untrained. For there he came, as I stepped out alone, As though our paths were carved in shared unknowns.
He paused—one line, no anger, no decree, "You don't speak anymore," he said to me.
Before my reason could assemble will or plead, My arms confessed the truth ahead of me.
A fleeting clasp yet time, subdued and still, Bent low, obedient to a gentler will.
No speech was planned; the moment chose its course, A hush more eloquent than guarded force. I spoke at last, with calm I learned to feign, "I've been detained by days that ask too much," I breathed, rehearsed, beyond revealing touch.
He smiled not loud, not meant to stake a claim, But something pure that knew no need for a name. And in that curve, so simple, unadorned, The weight of waiting quietly was mourned. The distances I built with patient care, The silence trained to keep my heart in repair, Unstitched themselves, thread loosening by thread, Till doubt lay down beside what hope had fled.
For in that breath so brief it barely stayed The ache forgot the bargains it had made. Confusion knelt; restraint released its hold, And light returned, though fragile, shy, and cold.
When home received me, doors in hush were drawn, He sent a fleeting reel so lightly thrown. I answered with a heart, restrained, discreet, He wrote,
"Next time—remember softer feet."
I smiled—how trifles stir what sleeps in ache, How careless kindness makes the spirit shake.
Then Monday's name fell gently from his tongue, A question veiled, half-said and yet unsung.
I lingered there, where hoping learns to ache, where want must pause for wisdom's weary sake. For liking stayed, though reason bid me flee, A quiet wish to know what lies in thee.
So yes I breathed then knelt in silent plea, That this, O Lord, would not elude decree.
Let what is spoken stand and not decay, Not fade like promises that turn to clay.
That Sunday, when the final hymn withdrew, And left the air unsure what to pursue,
He took our row no sign, no grand design, Yet something shifted, inward, out of line.
My friends made room with laughter lightly thrown, as if such nearness had been always known. I answered calmly with practiced, borrowed grace, while something unnamed altered inner space.
How strange that closeness does not always speak, Yet bends the firmest silence into weak. To sit beside what once was kept apart is how restraint first loosens in the heart.
The meeting closed; the evening plans grew thin, Fatigue dismissed what appetite brought in. I rode away through streets that passed too fast, When words found me unbidden from the past.
"Where are you now?"
so plain it scarcely rang, Yet in that line, a deeper question sang. By chance—or Providence that will not name — We met for coffee, quiet, unclaimed.
The hours slipped, uncounted and unkept, As though even time itself forgot it slept. No vows were made, no futures dared to start, Just careful truths laid bare, then set apart. Then came the word I felt before it fell: Monday would take him road, farewell, and bell.
The day once held in hesitant delight now dimmed, a star receding from its light.
I took it not as a loss, but a sacred check Desire restrained by Heaven's gentler wreck. For not all loves are granted room to grow; Some pass us through, then teach us how to go.
I grieved yet grief, when kept from open sound, Becomes a prayer that kneels without a ground.
And faith, I learned, is not the wish fulfilled, but standing still—where longing is stilled.
Still, I asked nothing more of fate or sign, I kept the joy of coffee small, benign. For in that hour, modest, unadorned, I learned how quietly the heart is turned. Not beauty first though grace was plainly there But something steadier beneath his care: A depth that did not clamor to be seen, A strength composed, restrained, and intervened.
There was a weight to him that did not press, A calm that asked for nothing to impress. In presence, warmth; in silence, something sure: A sense of ground that felt both safe and pure.
That Monday dawned; I rose before the light, Resolving hope would not outpace what's right. I knelt instead, and lent my wish to prayer:
"If this must fail, then let it end with care."
I named surrender slow, deliberate, plain, Prepared to call denial Heaven's gain. Yet Providence, unmoved by my defense, Chose gently then to answer—not with sense,
But with the simple fact of yes made real. We met. We went. The doubt began to kneel. We crossed the temple's quiet, sacred ground, where steps grew slow and words lost need for sound. We walked. We spoke of matters wide and small, Of faith and fear, of rising and the fall. And all the while, my guarded heart confessed this felt like truth not haste, but something blessed.
The day unfolded, radiant, serene, A fleeting hour too fair to have been seen. Each word he spoke, each gesture quietly made, Wove calm around me, like a gentle shade.
The cadence of his voice, the measured grace, All settled something restless in my pace. My heart, unguarded, found a softer beat, And clung to him in ways I dared not meet. I felt a longing, delicate and slight, to linger closer in the waning light. Yet reason whispered, caution kept me still, While inward fires bent to their own will.
Oh, how the quiet moments held their sway, How easily my composure slipped away. Each glance, each word, each calm, unspoken cue, drew me deeper into something pure and true.
After that day, his shadow clung to me, a quiet weight, unseen by all, but free. I wrote in secret, letters folded small, Each word a tremor, whispered to the wall. I traced his face again, with a trembling line, A fleeting portrait, fragile, half-divine. Each stroke a breath, each curve a hidden plea, A tender theft of what he could not see.
And prayers I tucked in Luke, in sacred fold, My silent hopes, my heart both meek and bold. Each page a bridge from mine to Heaven's care, Where longing bows and lingers in the air.
The book became a vessel, dense and deep, My secret vigil, shadows mine to keep. And in that still communion, raw, confined, I found a trembling grace that calmed my mind.
On Tuesday, his message arrived, sudden yet quiet, threading through the stillness of my day like a spark that trembled in the air. He told me his father had asked if he was courting anyone, and he answered with measured care,
"There is, Dad… I pray still,for her, for what may come, for what is yet to fulfill."
Even as the words settled, he added softly, almost as if speaking to the shadows rather than me,
"I spoke of you,"
he said, and even in those few words, a weight settled over me,
"your name breathed softly into my father's question, carried there like a secret I dared not keep."
My chest tightened, a delicate storm rising unseen, part of me soaring at the thought, part tethered by caution and restraint. How could I read meaning from what seemed casual, how could I trust the tender weight of truth without unraveling the fragile threads I had
carefully spun around my longing? To ask, to probe, to demand clarity, would shatter the quiet rhythm of our unspoken accord; yet to remain silent was to bear the heavy ache of restrained hope, a tension pressing deep upon my heart.
Desire and reason warred within me, hope and fear entwined in secret dance, and I realized with sharp, bittersweet clarity that even a mere mention of my name, soft and fleeting, could awaken a depth of feeling far beyond ordinary measure, a gravity that pulled the soul into tremors of delight and dread, of longing and restrained confession. Each pulse became a quiet admission, each breath a hesitant prayer, and I sat suspended between joy and fear, the fragile possibility of him in my life both a light and a burden I scarcely dared name aloud.
I knew not how to answer; my pulse raced, my fingers chilled, I lingered on the screen, my thoughts unspilled, suspended in a fragile pause, a silence thick and deep, Caught between the stir of hope and the weight of secrets I keep.
He sent a message first, asking if I would attend, To Praise and Worship, where our quiet hearts might blend. I typed my yes, though my pulse betrayed the calm I wore, a subtle tremor stirring deep at my core.
He spoke of exams, pondering if he should go, Yet I knew, beyond his words, he longed to show. And when he arrived, the air seemed to bend, My chest fluttered wildly, a warmth I could not suspend.
We sat upon the sofa, side by side, words weaving softly, like tides that confide. He asked of the letter I had held unseen, Saved for a moment where only our hearts convene.
And he came. My composure feigned, yet butterflies betrayed my guise, A quiet storm fluttering beneath watchful eyes. We settled side by side upon the sofa's span, Words drifting softly, weaving where our hearts began.
He inquired of the letter I had long kept near, Held for a moment when only our souls could hear. And after the fellowship, he extended a gentle invite, To share a meal, to linger in the fading light. I whispered yes within, though reality stayed its hand, The moment paused, slipping quietly like grains of sand.
Yet when he spoke of rescheduling, I was claimed by duty's sway, From morning till afternoon, with Couples, we led the way. Tambourines awaited next, their rhythm calling still, Yet even amidst the bustle, a quiet thrill did fill. Could it be, I wondered, that I too held a place in his heart's glance? A subtle spark, a tender hope, the whisper of chance. And after practice waned, he beckoned me near,
"To fetch some medicine," he said, "my tooth brings me fear."
Luke, what a flimsy pretense, I thought with a secret grin, And so we walked, our steps in rhythm, letting words slip in. His eyes alight with quiet wonder, questions soft, yet keen, He probed the tale of my ex, the moments in between. And bit by bit, I wove the story, layer by careful layer, Till all was told, unguarded now, my heart laid bare.
By the time our steps led me home, he stayed beside, guiding me quietly, the world seeming to glide. And then Sunday dawned, and there he stood to preach, A visage so striking, my heart it did beseech.
At the YM anniversary, side by side we sat, He beckoned for photos, the camera framing that. I masked my fluttering, my composure feigned and tight, Yet inwardly I swooned, my thoughts a restless flight. Each glance, each gesture, spun questions in my mind,
Were we something more, or just friends by design?