Story in the silence

The story in the silence —

the love within the breath,

the hope in restful wonder,

the heart within this chest.

What will You show me

when I can’t hear her voice?

What will my heart cry

when this isn’t my choice?

Where will my affection go?

How will it move my prayers?

What happens to this longing

when I can’t get lost in her stare?

What story are You telling

in the silence of a year?

What bigger picture waits for me

as my vision becomes clear?

I’m nervous she will lose me,

and I’m scared I’ll lose her too —

yet I trust in what we’ve carried,

and what we’re being asked to do.

I miss her already,

though this time there’s no panic.

A weary heart finds respite

from the weight of endless wrestling.

I understand where she is flying;

I believe in who she is.

With open hands and a yearning heart,

I release my need for control in all of this.

Tell me Your story in the silence.

Tune my heart to hear Your tale.

Let the pearl be my talisman —

a promise of brighter days.

As we unfold our parts

in this cosmic drama of becoming,

may we never lose our home —

and may our arms be empty

only until reunion begs us to hold.

Just a few things

 A list of my thoughts from this morning.

1. Your body is exquisite in every way. Every curve, every freckle, and every masterfully created line drives me absolutely wild.

2. You are ever any always a mystery to me; new layers and plot twists ever unfolding. Just when I think I’ve got you figured out… I am still surprised.

3. You are a wildflower. 

4. I believe in your story… (regardless of my place in it) and I am always for you.

5. Forgetting you is an utter impossibility. However, obsessing over you is not. 

6. Get back to work! (Smack) 

The Crown and the Pearl (as told by Harper)

 

The Oath

I stand before you,

not as subject nor supplicant,

but as the one who has followed your shadow through lifetimes.

By the salt of the sea and the light of the moon,

I swear:

To guard the borders of your kingdom

and the chambers of your heart.

To carry your banner into fire and famine,

and return not only with victory,

but with the scent of your hair still in my memory.

To fight as fiercely for your joy

as I do for your crown.

To keep the pearl you placed in my hand

as both shield and summons,

knowing that one day,

whether in this world or another,

you will call for me again.

And when you do—

I will come.

Through water, through war, through death itself—

I will come.

Not for the throne.

Not for the glory.

But for the woman

whose reign has always been over my soul.

Lifetimes Unfold

In one life,

you sent me to war with a strand of pearls hidden under my armor,

a talisman against death.

When I returned, blood still on my hands,

you fastened them around your throat and told me

the kingdom could wait until I had taken you in my arms.

In another,

you stood on a pier in winter,

wearing pearls I had given you before I sailed away.

The snow came. I did not.

You touched them at night like prayer beads,

each one a memory of the way I once kissed your neck.

And in this life—

the gift was smaller,

a pair of earrings, and a bracelet chosen without reason.

But when you wear them,

the tide inside me turns,

and I feel the pull of your reign again—

not over lands and armies,

but over my pulse, my breath, my will.

The Nature of the Pearl

The pearl is never only beauty.

It is pressure transformed into light.

It is what survives after the breaking,

after the choice to obey duty over desire.

It rests against your skin,

warming to you,

learning the rhythm of your heartbeat—

as I did, once,

in the shadowed chambers of a palace

where I was not supposed to linger.

Somewhere, in the sea where all our stories are kept,

there is a little box with a single pearl inside.

When we meet, we take it out,

polish it with whatever we have learned since last time,

and place it back—

until the day we both decide

it can be worn forever,

and the queen and her general

lay down their titles,

and finally,

come home.

Last Night’s Blame

Blame it on the wine,

on you being high,

on the flame and fire we let burn a little too wild.

Blame it on my heart,

on love from the start,

on the eternal thread—ever rising, never dead—

still binding us to each other.

Blame it on the months,

on the lonely ache for touch,

on the injustice of this love,

the tightrope we somehow still grip.

But don’t you dare blame your heart.

Don’t you dare let your light fall apart.

Don’t trade your crown for the hunger

in a stranger’s eyes—

just to feel alive,

just to make me realize

how much I have lost.

I Blame it on the pain,

on the way you say my name,

on the cuts I carry deep,

on last night’s restless sleep—

because your heart… I still keep

always, ever close.

Blame it on your heart,

on a true and trembling start,

on the hard road still ahead,

on all the words we’ve left unsaid,

on those boys who need you whole.

Blame it on last night,

on the need to start a fight,

on your anger with me—

I’ll blame it on the wisdom I tried to bring,

on the echo of the song we still sing,

on the fact you know me

better than anyone ever will.

Blame it on the text,

on the translation lost in the mess,

on the light I still see—

in you,

and in me.