It occurs to me,
As I rest my body but allow my mind to labor,
That the three words used quite carelessly in our society
Have not been whispered into my ear.

Gifts find their way into my hands,
Time together blossoms quietly, patiently,
As days go by.
Laughter comes to every meeting,
Inserting itself into every conversation,
Somehow aware that it needs no invitation,
Is always welcome to join us,
And is never out of place.

Butterfly kisses land on my lips,
And gentle embraces hold me softly,
So carefully.

But the words are not slipped into my ear,
And I think I know why,
Even as I know that I am loved,
As I love.

It wasn’t the candle that told me,
Even though I can inhale the affection that brought her here whenever she gives light.

Candles have voices. You just have to hear them with your eyes, and listen as you inhale.

And it wasn’t the coffee that told me,
Though it too is aromatic,
Warming Soul as quickly as it warms her tummy.

No one had to tell me.
For I heard it in the silence of his expression.
He spoke to me when he allowed my fingers to touch his face.
(His beautiful face.)

I can hear him in the quiet.
His isn’t an anemic affection,
It is powerful,
With strong roots
That go down deep
And care for others
Before himself.
(He contains the richest soil.)

It is his love that looks forward into uncertain ‘morrows which promise us nothing,
Not even their arrival.
That steadies itself to brace the winds
Of stormy weather
Or maybe change.

It is his love that protects the most tender of hearts.
It will not bestow something so…
Big, on a Soul
Only to yank it away
He simply isn’t capable…

His love walks slowly,
In careful measured steps –
In order to ensure the best outcome
For all.

He is the tour guide on the unfamiliar path,
Responsible for others
As well as himself,
Turning ’round a corner,
Making sure there’s solid ground
Beneath the traveler’s feet
Before he waves her on.

It is love of sacrifice and safety.
Precaution and bravery.
And Boldness.
For it did not shrink back from the journey,
Though it was clear it would not be easy.

His love hopes,
For it understands the rarity of mutual regard,
And it hungers,
As all loves hunger,
(And thirst).
And it waits,
For there is no hurry.

His is the love I trust.

All of those words, and more, are in the quiet.

I hear them.
“By not acting prematurely now,
I am giving to the woman you will be,
one year from now.”

Those are the words in his penetrating gaze,
In the lightest brush of his lips against mine,
In the firm grasp around my waist that bids me wait,
When I would pull him closer,
Hold him longer.
Wrap myself around him.

They bear the message,
Let the fullness of time come to pass in its own way.”

And he is right.
It rings true within me.
“There is no hurry.”

So I let the candle shine her brightest,
I let the coffee fill my cup,
I touch the presents with my fingers,
And soak silent affection up

In the quiet place.
In the hopeful place.
The patient place.
The wisest and the best place.

Because I know,
As I rest my body while allowing my mind to work,
That I am loved.
Even as I love.



~ leah

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