Encomium

Dawn of Hope

Do you ever feel it?
That gentle stirring deep inside—
a quiet certainty,
an unshakable whisper
that something great is waiting just beyond the horizon?

Lately, I’ve carried this feeling—
not a wild storm of passion or love,
but a steady glow of hope,
like the soft light before dawn
that promises a new day is coming.

It’s as if the universe is leaning closer,
gently telling me that what I’ve longed for—
the dreams I’ve cradled in secret,
the version of myself I’ve hoped to become—
is about to unfold.

I feel it in my bones—
a knowing that I was made for more
than the moments I’ve lived so far,
more than the doubts I’ve carried,
more than the silence that sometimes surrounds me.

This hope isn’t loud or demanding.
It’s patient.
It’s tender.
It’s the soft promise of growth,
of proving to the world—
and to myself—
that the life I’ve imagined
is waiting just ahead.

And though the path isn’t clear,
and the steps may falter,
I hold this hope close.
A quiet fire,
burning steady beneath the weight of the unknown.

Maybe you feel it too—
that gentle pull toward something better,
something waiting patiently to be claimed.

If so, know this:
we are both on the edge of something new.
And sometimes, that is enough to carry us forward.

Kind of Love That Hurts

It finally happened—
this love we only ever whispered about
when we thought no one was listening.
The kind they write ballads for,
the kind they save for the final scene
in a movie that leaves you breathless.

They always say, "When you know, you know."
And now I understand. Not just the words,
but the weight behind them— the gravity of finding someone
who makes the whole world go quiet just by walking into it.

You didn’t come to me flawless.
You didn’t pretend to be whole.
You came as you were— bruised, burdened,
and carrying a silence deeper than oceans.

And even so— especially so—
you felt like home. You still do.

You never needed to be perfect for me.
Not then, not now.
But oh, how it breaks something in me
to see you ache. To feel helpless
as you drift into the shadows
of your own pain.

I know it’s not my job to fix you.
I know love isn't about stitching someone else back together
with threads of your own soul.
But God— it hurts.

It hurts to watch the person I love
carry so much alone. It hurts to hear the silence
when I ask how you're really doing.
It hurts to smile so you won’t feel guilty
about the tears I’m hiding.

And I know.
I know your healing is yours.
Just like my hurting is mine.
That we cannot save each other—
only stand beside the wreckage
and hope our presence helps soften the fall.

That you’ll slip quietly into some place
I can’t reach. Somewhere I can’t follow.
And all this love I carry will sit, trembling, in an empty room.

But for now—
you’re still here.
Still breathing beside me.
Still trying.
And so I’ll keep loving you
quietly, fiercely,
without asking for anything in return
but your continued presence.

If this is the kind of love that breaks me,
then let it break me.
Let it shape me.
Let it teach me what it means
to love without conditions,
without demands,
without needing to be the reason you heal.

Just— stay.
That’s all I ask. Stay long enough to see yourself
the way I see you.

Unspoken, but Near

It finally happened—
this love we only ever whispered about
when we thought no one was listening.
The kind they write ballads for,
the kind they save for the final scene
in a movie that leaves you breathless.

They always say, "When you know, you know."
And now I understand. Not just the words,
but the weight behind them— the gravity of finding someone
who makes the whole world go quiet just by walking into it.

You didn’t come to me flawless.
You didn’t pretend to be whole.
You came as you were— bruised, burdened,
and carrying a silence deeper than oceans.

And even so— especially so—
you felt like home. You still do.

You never needed to be perfect for me.
Not then, not now.
But oh, how it breaks something in me
to see you ache. To feel helpless
as you drift into the shadows
of your own pain.

I know it’s not my job to fix you.
I know love isn't about stitching someone else back together
with threads of your own soul.
But God— it hurts.

It hurts to watch the person I love
carry so much alone. It hurts to hear the silence
when I ask how you're really doing.
It hurts to smile so you won’t feel guilty
about the tears I’m hiding.

And I know.
I know your healing is yours.
Just like my hurting is mine.
That we cannot save each other—
only stand beside the wreckage
and hope our presence helps soften the fall.

That you’ll slip quietly into some place
I can’t reach. Somewhere I can’t follow.
And all this love I carry will sit, trembling, in an empty room.

But for now—
you’re still here.
Still breathing beside me.
Still trying.
And so I’ll keep loving you
quietly, fiercely,
without asking for anything in return
but your continued presence.

If this is the kind of love that breaks me,
then let it break me.
Let it shape me.
Let it teach me what it means
to love without conditions,
without demands,
without needing to be the reason you heal.

Just— stay.
That’s all I ask. Stay long enough to see yourself
the way I see you.