I wait for you,
soulmate of my imagining,
in the spaces where silence gathers.
Perhaps you are a myth,
a name I invented to soften loneliness,
a shadow stitched from longing.
Yet still I wait –
because waiting itself is a kind of love,
a faith that presence, once dreamed,
cannot vanish.
If you never come,
I will walk with the echo of you,
proof that even absence
can shape a heart.
And if someday the distance softens,
if the shadows part,
I will not plead,
I will not claim –
I will simply stand,
quiet as a candle,
ready to burn with you.
And if you never come,
I will still carry the shape of you,
like a constellation unseen by others,
but guiding me through the dark.