Three stories I’ve yet to write
Three stories I’ve yet to write,
no, maybe four I’ve yet to read:
how a shared laughter can turn into an inside joke,
how midnight messages transformed to sleep calls,
how a slow burn can turn into a wildfire,
how distant wishes turned into wistful waitings for reality.
Three miracles I’ve yet to wonder,
no, maybe four I’ve yet to witness:
how he blushes with the sound of her voice,
how she takes his hand at the offer for help,
how she prays at night, begging for a sign,
how he wakes at night, asking for the sign to be granted
Three moments I’ve yet to experience,
no, four:
how home feels like after seven months apart,
how heavy a rock feels when it rests on my finger,
how the nights are no longer as cold as the winter wars,
how the days no longer feel as lonely with the summer breeze
Three prayers I’ve yet to praise God,
no, maybe four hymns I’ve yet to sing:
how a one-way ticket gave a flight of new experiences,
how the nights clear out to give way to the lights,
how the spring flowers bloom as the snow melts away,
how the heart continues to long for a home
Three prayers I’ve yet to ask God,
no, maybe four thoughts I’ve yet to utter:
for the waiting to be fruitful, despite its dread,
for the eyes to constantly look up, to the Lover of my soul,
for home to be a dream with five thousand miles still apart,
for love to reflect Christ’s, in all His glory.
