First comes the hush where hearts convene, A silent pulse, a tender scene. In shadowed glances, secrets dwell, Where unvoiced thoughts like rivers swell. No haste to claim, no grasping hand, but measured steps through time's soft sand. The soul discerns what eyes conceal, The subtle truths that moments reveal.
Each sigh, each pause, a solemn thread, A lattice where all feelings tread. Not brazen, bright, nor boldly spun, but patient as the setting sun.
The morrow came, and plans were set to meet, To share a meal, to linger in retreat.
Once home, my hands prepared a careful trove A stack of letters, prayers in my Bible wove,
And a single daisy, humble, yet sincere.
A gentle ruse I played, a whispered plea,
"What flower would you wish a friend to see?"
He said,
"A sunflower," bright and tall,
Yet fate decreed a daisy must answer the call.
A crafted bloom I could not weave, For time, relentless, would not leave. So I implored a friend's kind hand, And from the shop, a daisy spanned. No other choice the fates allowed, So this lone flower I humbly bowed.
Monday arrived with a quiet threat, the hour of leaving too soon, too set. I faltered then, breath caught mid-sigh, for fate had armed me with reasons to lie. Two bags I bore—one innocent, bare, the other cradling gifts meant for him alone there. I scanned for a hiding place, clever and small, but secrets are heavy; they refuse to be small.
My handbag protested too narrow, too tight, and the flowers deserved not a crumpled demise. Their wrappings were promises, fragile and fair, meant to be seen in a moment of care.
Yet folly, sweet folly, betrayed me outright: I handed him the tote, the keeper of light. The very bag holding the truth I concealed, the heart of the surprise too soon to be revealed.
Each step toward the LRT rang loud in my chest, for what if curiosity failed its test? What if his hands, by chance or by whim, uncovered the magic I saved just for him?
So swiftly I plotted, mid-motion, mid-prayer, a scheme spun from panic and desperate care. My pulse drummed secrets beneath skin and bone, as though I were guarding a kingdom alone.
All the while, I smiled calm, casual, still though inside, my courage climbed sheer cliffs of will.
For love, I learned, is a quiet disguise: a mission of hearts, sworn under soft lies.
I wrote him a letter in careful lines, where ink confessed what my mouth declined. I sketched his face with a timid hand, as if tracing a dream I could barely command.
I filled a jar with scattered notes, small borrowed truths and sugar-coated hopes— whispers of laughter, vows unspoken, each fragile word a piece of me broken.
And there, among them, a daisy lay, my favorite bloom in its quiet way. White as patience, soft as grace, a mirror of love that knows its place. Each gift was stitched with my silent art, every detail a splintered heart. Not merely things, but proof of me, wrapped in care and vulnerability.
I meant to give them beneath park trees, where time slows down and moments breathe. But hunger was persistent, plain so SM Manila became our lane.
He named fine places, bright and kind, menus dressed for a richer mind. While I stood smiling, shy and small, Jollibee was content with all.
McDonald's, Inasal simple cheer, joy tastes sweeter when he is near. It's strange how little the heart requires when love itself feeds deeper fires. For happiness, I've come to see, is not in grandeur or luxury but in shared fries, in quiet laughs, in choosing simple, and choosing us.
And when our plates were cleared of crumb and stain, I reached for something holier than pain. I showed him then my Bible, worn and true, its spine bent low by all I'd carried through.
And when the table emptied, quiet, bare, I offered something heavier than care. I showed him my Bible, worn and true, its pages bent by all I'd prayed him through.
For every leaf had learned my truest speech, each margin stretched as far as hope could reach.
I'd promised him—when every page was filled, when every prayer had been spoken, signed, and sealed, I'd let him read it not as a borrowed creed, but as the place where faith learned how to plead. For there, in ink that never tried to hide, his name was written Luke on every side.
No vague requests, no faceless hope or plea, but prayers that dared specificity. I named him boldly, line by trembling line, as if God, too, should know his name as mine.
To place it in his hands felt almost wild, like giving him the faith that kept me mild. My heart had lived where sacred verses stay, between the Psalms and all I dared to say.
Thus there I stood, unarmored, fully seen, my inward life exposed where it had been. I let him read the love I'd grown alone, a quiet harvest sown where none had known. I did not merely yield belief to view, but proved that prayer had always spoken two.
For love, I learned, is faith made manifest conviction clothed in breath and tenderness. It lives the moment one allows another to read what cannot fracture nor be sundered: the sanctified ink, the vigil-kept art, of writing one true name inside the heart.
As we proceeded, felicity ambushed my stride, when, unannounced, he queried almost shyly whether my nearness to him bore unease, if silence bred discomfort in the breeze.
I answered plain, yet anchored in my core: No awkwardness has crossed my threshold—nor before. Then, hesitant as twilight seeking flame, he petitioned softly, scarcely naming claim,
to take my hand. I yielded without sound; consent lived gently in the space we found.His fingers laced with mine anointed, still and time itself obeyed a lesser will. We rendered moments into captured light, images tethered to that fragile rite. Then parkward bound, where waiting shadows lay, my composure began its slow decay.
For there converged emotions, interlaced: exultant dread, anticipation laced with tremor, rapture yoked to anxious breath, as if delight rehearsed its own small death.
My thoughts careened, ungoverned, overrun:
Would he discern the labor I'd begun?
Would he esteem the offering I bore,
or miss the heart concealed within its core?
Thus hope and fear in countermeasure stood, each step a wager faith alone could brood.
For love, I learned, is courage unannounced, a soul extended, trembling, unrenounced.
Would he find it sweet, or judge it too profound? These questions spun in echoes all around. Yet still my heart sang, untamed, unconfined, for joy is fierce when his hand brushes mine. Side by side we wandered, our steps aligned, through streets where light and shadow intertwined. Each pace a whisper of the dreams I'd sown, toward the park where my intent was known.
There, beneath the trees where time seemed still, I'd offer what my soul had wrought with will. A gift of ink, of petals, thoughts sincere, to place the beating of my heart near.
At last we crossed the park's wide, quiet sweep, where shadowed bowers held the world asleep. His gaze was caught in wonder, and my own, for first I trod this ground, yet felt well-known. Each step fell soft, as if the earth could hear the tremor of a heart both proud and clear. We found a glade where amber sunlight spilled, a hush that wrapped the soul, the air distilled.
My fingers quivered, pulses drummed in time, though outward mien preserved a calm, sublime. One by one, I offered each penned plea, each syllable a shard of memory.
The park itself seemed conscious of the rite, its leaves suspended, holding back the night. And in that pause, so delicate, austere, I laid my heart before him, crystal-clear.
At last I placed the letter in his grasp, and bid him read each syllable I clasped. The ink, a trembling pulse of private truth, unfurled the hidden corridors of youth. Then, voice a whisper, I disclosed the rest: a jar of notes where scattered hopes confessed. Each slip a fragment of my heart refined, a latticework of thought and love entwined.
I could not fathom tides that moved within, nor chart the currents stirring deep therein. Yet still, the offering lay bare, complete, my labor folded at his steady feet.
The world around us seemed to pause, aware, as if the air itself had learned to care. And in that hush, my courage bled to light, revealing all my heart within his sight.
Then I whispered there remained one last delight, and saw his eyes grow wide with sudden light. I hesitated, trembling, to place it in his hand, so bade him simply look, and there to stand. I cannot say what thoughts traversed his mind, yet when he smiled, my pulse leapt unconfined. While he read the letter, I could not avert my gaze, for every line revealed his heart.
The park itself seemed conscious of the rite, its leaves suspended, holding back the night. And in that pause, so delicate, austere, I laid my heart before him, crystal-clear.
I could not fathom tides that moved within, nor chart the currents stirring deep therein. Yet still, the offering lay bare, complete, my labor folded at his steady feet.
The world around us seemed to pause, aware, as if the air itself had learned to care. And in that hush, my courage bled to light, revealing all my heart within his sight.
Yet soon the hour bade us go our ways, as he must journey home, the sun's last blaze. A simple ending, yet its warmth remained, a lingering ember where my heart was trained.
At home, I rested, smiling, soul aglow, but still the tide of feeling overflowed. I could not hold the current in restraint, so took my pen to speak what words could paint: The joy, the gratitude, the quiet flame, the tender love that dared not speak my name. Each syllable is a vessel of delight; each line a prayer to linger through the night.
And in that act, my heart found its release, pouring the day's soft magic into peace.
Then came his words, and oh my soul took flight! I squealed with joy, a tremor of delight. A thousand smiles erupted, uncontrolled, as each line shimmered like warm threads of gold. His message danced across the quiet page, a tender echo of my heart's own stage. And in that instant, every doubt erased, replaced by laughter, love, and gentle grace.
Oh, how the simple act of words replied could stir the world, with all its pulse inside! I held the screen, enraptured, eyes aglow, for what he sent reflected all I know: that hearts can speak, and hearts can leap, and hearts can meet where soul and written message parts.
"I find myself at a loss for words, for gratitude swells beyond what speech affords. Yet you have placed before me a tender task to speak more freely, whether near or masked. The Lord Himself bears witness to this heart, He knows the stirrings that cannot depart. When I am beside you, left or right, only God discerns the depth of this delight.
As in Songs of Solomon, the soul is stirred, and in His presence, my love finds words. I lift my praise for all His works above, and verily, I confess—I am yours in love."
Oh who could remain unmoved, or not undone, when words like his alight like morning sun? Time seemed to falter, paused upon the air, and every breath grew fragile, fine, and rare.
My heart took flight with tremors unforeseen, a fluttering tempest where calm had once been. I read and reread each syllable, amazed, for could it be he truly spoke, and praised?
The world contracted to that single line, where awe and wonder, and delight, entwine. Each word a spark, igniting joy so deep, I held them close, as though my soul to keep.
Thereafter, chance revealed his fleeting post of Bibles raised, of prayers the Spirit knows. We spoke but seldom; thus I never said that twice, in sleep, his presence found my head.
It felt uncanny, charged with quiet signs, as though the dream had crossed a sacred line. The first: Baguio, veiled in mist and pine, where he invited me to share his time. Two days I lingered in that borrowed place, where cool air traced the softness of his face. We wandered paths where green horizons lay, until the world withdrew, and hushed the day.
We sat where grass grew patient, wide, and still, no souls between us but our tempered will. There, gently, he enclosed my waiting hand, and spoke a joy I scarcely dared command. He said he was glad our paths had crossed, that meeting me was never chance nor lost.
Then, with a voice both earnest, calm, and true, he asked to court me as lovers do.
I woke undone, my senses all askew, for dream and waking life no longer knew their proper bounds, the vision lingered so, it felt less sleep than truth I'd yet to know.
My second dream At Bethel's gates, the night did twist and bend, where shadows of the past and now contend. Eldrin's voice, a siren old and sly, reached for my heart beneath the trembling sky.
But Luke's gaze flared, a flame both fierce and near, his quiet claim asserting all was clear. The world itself seemed paused, held in between, a fragile space where envy met the serene. Two currents pulled my soul in twin restraint, one echoing desire, one tethered faint. The air was thick with whispered, secret laws, and in that weight, I felt both awe and pause.
No waking hand could untangle what I knew, for hearts in dream weave truths the day won't view.
A tempest soft, a storm of love and fear, I lingered there, suspended, and sincere.
The third dream breathed a quieter, softer hue, where afternoon sun gilded every view. Bethel appeared, but gentler than before, its walls suffused with light I could adore. He came to me, a smile both calm and true, a bouquet of purple tulips in his cue. He said,
"These are for you,"
and in their shade I felt the careful trust his hands displayed.
I asked,
"Why tulips?"
though he surely knew, and he regarded them, his gaze steady, true:
"Because they speak of perfect love, my dear,
and purple signs of trust, of peace, of clear destiny of hearts that fate will intertwine." Each word is a soft, deliberate, sacred sign.
We sat beneath a tree, the world hushed near, and by his side, a violin lay clear.
"May I play something before my plea?"
he said, and melodies like honey dripped and spread. The notes, so warm, so full of tender grace, spoke to the quiet chambers of my space. When silence fell, he asked with gentle might,
"May I begin to court you?"
—soft, polite.
The wind itself seemed paused, the moment whole, yet calmness settled deep within my soul.
I asked, '
"Are you sure?"
and he met my eyes,
"I've never known such certainty,"
he sighed.
"I prayed about it too."
Soft church bells chimed afar, their clarity like God within the spar. He brushed my hand, returning blooms once more,
"If it's part of His design, He'll make it soar."
I woke, heart racing, yet profoundly still, the dream replaying like a sacred thrill. Though twice before such visions had begun, this third dream lingered gentle, deep, and spun.
Then came the fourth, more tender than the rest, for on my birthday it came, fully blessed. Baguio appeared, its lights like scattered stars, the mountain air, serene, healing old scars. We wandered hand in hand through gardens wide, where blooms of countless hues swayed side by side. He paused, then turned, a gentle, radiant smile, and spoke with voice that lingered like the aisle:
"Happy Birthday, My Love,"
so soft, so true, and placed a single daisy in my view the same I once had given him before,
yet now it fluttered hearts and spirits more.
Before my breath could shape a word or sigh, he knelt, the world dissolving in his eye. The people faded; only we remained, the mountain breeze and city lights sustained.
"I prayed for this,"
he said,
"And God made right the moment where our hearts converge tonight. Will you allow me, love, to prove each day how boundless is the love I vow to stay?"
Tears welled unbidden, joy too vast for speech, my soul replied with nods that words couldn't reach.
I whispered
"Yes,"
and in that sacred light, he lifted me into the arms of night.
The stars burned brighter, heavens soft and warm, and every heartbeat matched the world's calm form. When I awoke, my pillow damp, my chest still racing from a dream divinely blessed. Though tears had come in slumber once before, this time they spoke of love unbound, and more a peace, a fullness, sacred, infinite, a gift my heart will never cease to write.
The fifth dream bloomed, a scene both vast and true, so vivid that my heart raced when I knew I still was caught within its golden light, a world transformed by joy and tender sight. It was his day of triumph, full of grace, a graduation in that sacred place. Bethel's walls, familiar, calm, and near, embraced our hearts with peace profound and clear.
I watched him walk, a smile both proud and bright, and every step seemed blessed by Heaven's sight. The crowd erupted in their laughter, cheer, yet suddenly, the world reduced to here.
His gaze found mine, a shift I could not miss, and in his hand, a small and perfect gift.
His sister clicked, his parents filmed the scene, his brother smiled, a quiet, golden beam.
"I prayed for this,"
he said,
"and God made the whole longing that was whispered in my soul. You were the prayer I did not yet know, and now His answer shows, my love will grow. Will you allow me, heart, to spend my days proving this love in all its boundless ways?"
He knelt before me, steady, calm, yet near, his eyes a mirror of devotion clear. The crowd fell silent, though still laughing faintly, the air itself seemed sanctified and quaint.
Once more, the peace of dreams past swept my chest, a gentle tide that washed away unrest. And when I woke, my pillow wet with tears, my heart still full of awe beyond the years.
It was not sorrow, only something deep, a quiet wonder, sacred, mine to keep. As oft before, my sleep revealed the truth: that love, in dreams, can touch the soul of youth.
There are still dreams I guard, unspoken, veiled, their meanings hidden, like soft winds curtailed. And oft I wander through the night once more, where he appears, content, and joy restores. He beckoned me to Bethel, lights aglow, for some event, and still, I chose to go.
Though distance loomed, I journeyed, heart astir, through streets unknown, where faint anxieties blur.
I'd never dared the rickshaw, bike, or ride, with their traffic wide. Old shadows whispered memories of wrong, inappropriate hands that lingered long.
Yet still I braved the path, though nerves entwined, for hope, for faith, for what my dreams had signed. And though the meaning waits, I understand that love can ask of us a steady hand.
The day was bright, and lessons softly shown, through winding paths where Bethel's light had grown. He guided me with patience, calm, and care, through halls unfamiliar, yet rich and fair.
We wandered then in circles, laughter spun, like shadows chasing gold beneath the sun. I waited while he lingered, tending things, as time itself drifted on quiet wings. At last we rode, the journey winding home, his shoulders bowed, yet still he would not roam. I longed to ease the weariness he bore, to hold his hand, to lighten something more.
Though such a touch may not remove his weight, my heart reached out to him, to bless his state. For love, I've learned, is quiet, small, yet true, a tender act, and prayer, expressed in view.
Exhausted, homeward bound, my day complete, I laid my thoughts in quiet, soft retreat. The morrow came, a Sunday bathed in light, yet weariness had stolen from the night.
I missed the service where the faithful sing, and found instead the Youth Ministry's small ring. Luke asked if I would join the evening service, I shook my head, and said,
"I won't be there."
Yet gently, he extended me a hand,
"Come to the fellowship, if that's your plan."
I smiled, agreed, and told him where I'd been, just outside with friend coffee cups between.
He nodded then, and said, in easy tone,
"Invite your friend—and also her heart's own."
Thus simple plans unfolded into light, small moments woven gently into night. The day, though ordinary, subtly swayed, with laughter, warmth, and little hearts displayed.
We wandered slowly, footsteps soft and light, the evening draped around us, calm and bright. At last we paused, and fast food called our name, a simple feast, yet somehow not the same.
We sat and spoke, our questions intertwined, each answer opening corners of the mind. The night grew gentle as our laughter flowed, a quiet comfort in the paths we strode.
Then homeward bound, the stars our silent guide, with hearts unburdened, walking side by side. Though humble was the meal, the night, the air, the sweetness lingered in the warmth we shared.
That night was calm, the quiet of the home, yet mother's gaze betrayed a mind that roamed. She asked, with gentle curiosity, what stirred between us, what she could not see.
I smiled and said,
"Just friends, exploring still,
our hearts discovering each unspoken thrill." She nodded, half in jest, half in command,
"Next time you go, let him first make it planned. Tell me when you leave, the hour, the way,
so I may know where both of you stay."
Her words were firm, yet touched with subtle grace, a mother's love reflected in her face.
I told him all, and then his words fell slow:
"We should cool off,"
he said, and hearts sank low. Confusion wrapped me tight, a storm inside, for had I caused a hurt I could not hide? It seemed so small, my mother's quiet plea, yet still his answer struck unexpectedly.
Emotions surged, a torrent none could stay, and tears became the only words to say. I deactivated accounts, withdrew, to let the ache recede, and soul renew. For I have never mastered speech of heart; the only way to mend is to depart into the river of my own release, to cry, to let the heaviness find peace.
I prayed that night, and gratitude arose, the Lord's soft whisper easing all my woes. Sleep came at last, with calmness in its wake, and morning found me ready to partake.
I reopened portals to the world anew, for duties called, as life and work will do. Yet still, within, a lighter spirit stirred, a gentle peace, sustained by whispered words.
He asked if I was well, a simple line, yet how could I respond while my soul entwined with tangled tides of grief and fragile ache, when hearts, once stirred, are slow again to wake? Still, I replied, though hesitant and faint, and posted a small token, subtle, quaint an ice cream symbol, sweet, yet bittersweet, a silent plea for solace I might meet.
My spirit roamed, unsteady, tempest-torn, through tangled dusk, and toward the fragile morn. Though not "together," and the world would scorn, I let the tears descend, unfeigned, unshorn.
Some sorrows must be felt before they heal, their weight a truth no hurried words conceal. And in that quiet storm of salt and sigh, my heart unburdened, trembling, sought the sky.
He beckoned me to wander, sweet and near, for ice cream's solace, soft, a moment dear. We roamed through Mall corridors, unhurried pace, exploring aisles, the world a gentle space.
We paused for bites of food, then drifted on, through bookstore shelves where stories drew me gone. Lost in the novels, yet aware of him, his presence held me close, my heart not dim. At last we claimed our cones of creamy bliss, though my first choice surprised me with a perfect kiss. We sat upon the benches, side by side, and let our laughter ripple, soft, untried.
The tales we told, the chuckles small yet sweet, made every heartbeat match a calmer beat.
Time seemed suspended, folded in our care, each second rich with joy beyond compare.
And in that hush, where simple moments gleam, the world grew gentle, like a waking dream.
Before he left to answer faith's own call, we captured moments, pictures, memories small.
Then homeward I retraced my weary way, while he returned where prayers and candles sway. I longed to hold him close, a fleeting trace, though we were not yet bound in love's embrace. A pang arose, a hush that gripped my chest,
"Parting feels heavy,"
whispered in my chest. The ache was tender, sweet, a gentle sting, a quiet yearning only small hearts bring. Though not yet coupled, still my spirit knew that even fleeting closeness held love true.
He beckoned me to linger, walk, and stay, to share a cup before he went away. Not coffee, but a Matcha, warm and sweet, and books between us made the moment complete.
A dreamlike date, as tender as the air, a rarity, a joy beyond compare. For once the effort came from him, not me, a gentle gift of presence, soft and free.
We lingered, sweet, with laughter light and small, each step a memory I would recall. He walked me home beneath the fading glow, and in that pause, a longing I could show.
A hug, long wished, a fleeting, perfect trace, he held me close, and time slowed in its pace. A simple act, yet in that soft embrace, my heart found warmth no distance could erase.
Now he has returned to Baguio's skies, yet sends me glimpses of life through gentle ties. Videos of Choco, bounding full of cheer, and daisies, to my delight, appear so near. Then onward still, to Ilocos he flies, with his own brother Joel, where the mission lies. Though distance stretches, still our hearts remain, connected softly through the joy and strain.
A fleeting image, a small, cherished scene, reminds me of the spaces in between. Though far apart, the tender threads persist, in every message, every fleeting tryst.
Upon his return to Manila's golden hue, he bade me join where quiet sunlight drew. To Pastil's humble haven we did stray, and shared the hours in gentle, unhurried play. He spoke of missions, Ilocos' distant lands, of labor wrought by steadfast, faithful hands. I listened, rapt, my laughter softly stirred, by every tale, each anecdote conferred.
Our thoughts then wandered to the books we framed, the covers wrought where our own dreams were named. Again we lingered, Pastil's fare, our thread, a simple cadence of the daily bread.
No hurried texts, no virtual display, just presence, tangible, in face-to-face array. Yet oft I longed for whispers sent unseen, a fleeting sign, a message in between. Instead, he cast his jokes, both quaint and sly, corny, absurd, yet sweet enough to fly straight to my lips, to coax a laugh or two, a mirthful balm, sincere in every hue.
No grand confession, yet contentment bloomed, each mundane act with quiet joy perfumed. For love, I learned, oft dwells in simplest ways, in shared small hours, and laughter that obeys.
Meanwhile, my prayers took flight in quiet streams, soft petitions wrapped around my secret dreams. I whispered blessings for his kin, his days, entwined with hope, in unseen, gentle ways.
Upon my birthday, he bestowed a token, pictures of us small keepsakes softly spoken.
I treasured them, and placed one in my fold, a private keep safe our story told.
The day itself fell on a sunlit rest, yet duties bound him, leaving plans suppressed. Our celebration waited, patiently restrained, rescheduled for a time when joy remained.
At last we ventured forth, our errands paired, I aided him with tasks, together shared. We paused to eat, the world a calm retreat, then homeward bound, the simple day complete. Though modest were the hours, still they gleamed, with laughter, care, and quiet hopes esteemed. For love, I learned, patience often hides, and in small gestures, tender joy abides.
A gentle rhythm settled into days, he messaged first, then called me out to stray. Sometimes for meals, sometimes for quiet brew, each meeting simple, yet the joy felt new. At last I met his parents face to face, his father speaking with both poise and grace. We lingered after, sharing midday fare, the world around us softened by the air.
The morrow came, yet tardiness betrayed, his frown, his mother's sigh, a small cascade. Disappointment stirred within my chest, for I had erred, and he was not at rest. I offered words of humble, quiet plea, and watched his anger fade, the heart set free. Once more we ventured out, the day of our own, through streets and paths where laughter softly shone.
He spoke of past loves, memories, and pain, and I, attentive, felt their subtle strain. I longed to share the stories held in me, yet waited, patient, for a time to be.
Through wandering, talking, quiet moments shared, I saw the layers of a soul prepared. And in those hours, calm and gently wide, I glimpsed the heart he kept so deep inside.