4. The Years of Waiting — When Love Becomes Prayer

You were gone—
and yet,
you were everywhere.

In the hush before dawn,
in the wind that brushed my cheek,
in the echo of a song
that always paused
on your favorite line.

I did not chase you—
how does one chase
what lives inside the breath?

I did not cry aloud,
but I wept silently—
in the quiet corners of time
where only the soul can speak.

Every season passed,
dressed in your memory.
Autumn wore your sighs,
Spring carried your smile,
and winter—
winter just held me close,
like you once did,
without words.

I grew older,
but not farther.
I lived on,
but not away.

I was not waiting for you
to return in body—
I was waiting
for the universe
to remember its own promise.

The world moved,
people came and went.
Laughter returned,
new dreams whispered.

But in the sanctuary
beneath all joy,
you remained—
a still flame
that never flickered.

I loved others,
perhaps,
in fleeting ways—
like clouds passing a moon.
But you—
you were my sky.

And so I waited—
not in longing,
but in trust.
Not in sorrow,
but in still devotion.

Like earth waits
for the monsoon
not knowing the hour—
but knowing,
always knowing,
that it will come.

I never asked fate
"why?"
I never questioned the stars.
For I had read your name
in their pattern—
once.

That was enough.

Because some bonds
are not held by time
or touch
or talk—
they are etched in silence,
sealed by soul,
and guarded
by the breath of the cosmos itself.

I waited
as a temple waits for light.
And in that waiting,
I became
my own offering.

I did not wear your absence
like grief—
I wore it like prayer beads.
Each moment,
a chant of your name.

And with every breath,
I whispered to the winds—
“If love is true,
if souls are one—
then let the stars
find their course again.”