I have walked into churches,
sat quietly beneath their stained glass light,
and let silence carry your name
higher than my voice ever could.
I have bowed my head in the Gurudwara,
where hymns rise quietly toward the sky,
and among a thousand folded hands
mine asked only for you.
On the branch of an old tree
I tied a thin sacred thread—
not as a ritual,
but as a promise given to the wind.
I have lowered my forehead to temple stone,
cool beneath the weight of hope,
leaving behind prayers
that only patient gods could hear.
At the shrine I spread a chadar for you,
soft as a quiet surrender,
trusting that somewhere among saints and dust
a blessing might still remember us.
I have watched the night sky carefully,
waiting for a falling star,
and when one finally broke through the dark
I spent my only wish on your name.
Like a child believing in small miracles,
I dropped a coin into a deep old well,
listening to the echo below
carry my longing farther than I could follow.
Perhaps the heavens are tired of my prayers.
Perhaps destiny writes its stories slowly.
But if the world ever grows kind enough
to let you walk toward me—
then I will bring you the bangles of a bride,
the red threads of promise,
and a life that has already
learned the patience of loving you.
~ Stoic Vin 🍂
