There is a quiet thing beneath my trust,
not doubt exactly …
But something hushed,
harder to name, harder to crush.
It does not shout when I reach for you,
does not pull my hand away,
but it watches there— a watchful seam,
half-shadow stitched into the dream;
a door left open, just in case
I ever need a swift escape.
It remembers—always will—
every fracture, every spill
of trust once given, clean and whole,
then scattered sharp across my soul.
It lives between your words and mine,
inside the pause, the faint design
of breaths I hold but never claim,
of questions I don’t dare to name.
Yet something else breaks gently through—
I feel it rising, quiet, too.
Something like love… but deeper still.
I think it’s faith. A choice. A fragile will.
Faith, placed softly in your hands,
not free from fear, but where it stands—
a trembling thing that dares to stay,
though doubt still lingers in its way.
And still it stays, not fully free,
the door left cracked beside me.
Mar 30
Mar 30, 2026 at 10:02 AM UTC
There is a quiet thing beneath my trust,
not doubt exactly …
But something hushed,
harder to name, harder to crush.
It does not shout when I reach for you,
does not pull my hand away,
but it watches there— a watchful seam,
half-shadow stitched into the dream;
a door left open, just in case
I ever need a swift escape.
It remembers—always will—
every fracture, every spill
of trust once given, clean and whole,
then scattered sharp across my soul.
It lives between your words and mine,
inside the pause, the faint design
of breaths I hold but never claim,
of questions I don’t dare to name.
Yet something else breaks gently through—
I feel it rising, quiet, too.
Something like love… but deeper still.
I think it’s faith. A choice. A fragile will.
Faith, placed softly in your hands,
not free from fear, but where it stands—
a trembling thing that dares to stay,
though doubt still lingers in its way.
And still it stays, not fully free,
the door left cracked beside me.
