The Ones Who Still Wait

There is a quiet in the heart

That only the waiting know.

Not the kind that waits for a bus

Or a call that’s five minutes late—

But the kind that aches in stillness,

That echoes in every “maybe someday.”

It is the lull after the pouring,

When the well runs dry

And the hands that used to give

Now tremble, unsure

If they will ever be held

Like they hold.

You’ve given love like rainfall,

Soft and hard,

Patient and storming.

And though no garden has yet bloomed

From your offering—

Still, you stand,

Seed in hand,

Eyes to the sky,

Believing somehow

The season will turn.

You are not forgotten.

Your love is not wasted.

The one who can carry it

Is still learning how to reach you—

And you?

You’re learning how to stay soft

Without spilling.

Sleep, gentle heart.

Even the stars wait for morning.

And so can you.

-The Soft Witness