The yearn

I wait for her

the way dawn waits behind the hills

quiet, glowing faintly,

wanting so badly

to rise where she can see me.

Her laughter brushes past me

like fingertips I almost feel,

sweet enough to chase,

sharp enough to keep my heart tender.

I watch her love another,

her smile settling into someone else’s arms

as if it always belonged there.

And still, I stay.

My chest holds its small, stubborn flame,

a pulse of light

for a path she never turns toward.

And each night, I murmur into the hush:

if ever her heart grows tired,

if ever the world bends her steps back to me,

I will be here

still yearning,

still burning,

still hers

in all the quiet corners

she doesn’t yet know I keep.