Long ago, I whispered, a prayer held close and dear: "Lord, grant me a Christian heart, gentle, kind, sincere. Not a pastor's son, if it may be spared, Yet if You will, let it be, a soul divinely prepared. A spirit quiet, humble, and true, The one You ordain for me to know, in all I do." Through years it lingered, in shadow and in light, A prayer wrapped in hope, silent through day and night.
Have you ever prayed with eyes gently closed, then opened them to find the world reposed? Some call it chance, some whisper fate, I call it God's own perfectly timed date. That morning, the chapel lay hushed and still, The prayer was soft, yet the music could thrill. A violin weaved like dawn's tender light, Each note a star piercing the folds of night.
My chest constricted, my spirit held in thrall, As though creation bowed to God's quiet call. Mine eyes pursued the strain, entranced, unbound, Until Luke appeared, by Providence profound.
A radiance descended, unveiling all I could see, This fleeting hour ordained by divinity. My heart leapt sudden, my breath stole away, as if heaven itself had lent life to the day.
'Twas in that moment my heart yielded, letting him near.
A quiet surrender, trembling within. I had glimpsed him before—Luke, serene, reserved, The one by the band, his violin carefully preserved.
We dancers had finished our tambourine reverie, And as the service waned, the pastor bade all rise. The lights dimmed softly, a hush cloaking the night, while singers hummed and the band murmured gentle sighs.
Then—ah, the violin—so tender, so clear, Its notes wove through the air, stirring something near. A silent pull tugged at the depths of my soul, And, unbidden, my gaze followed its subtle toll.
It called to me softly, a whisper, a flame, A melody tracing the contours of my name.
My gaze alighted upon him—Luke, serene and rapt, As though the cosmos itself had quietly collapsed. He played with eyes shuttered, each bow-stroke a benediction, A delicate oblation, trembling with silent conviction.
My heart thundered fiercely, a wild refrain, "Lord… why does this stir? Such sweet, sharp pain?" The world slowed down, as if his Hand had stilled each clamor, leaving only what was filled.
I could do naught but behold, my chest constricted, My heart convulsing, each throb unpredicted "Lord… what alchemy is this?" I murmured within, as if the mundane world had muted, letting the sacred begin.
I could not avert my sight, nor yearned to depart, The sanctuary held its breath, and the music enthralled my heart. Each note a scintilla, each pause a cryptic sign, A melody woven with intention, as if heaven's hand designed.
When the prayer waned and we sank into our seats, I remained adrift, lost in thought's quiet retreats.
"Why does my heart convulse with such clandestine fire?" I mused,
Though the service had ended, my senses remained transfused.
Even as we traversed backstage, costumes exchanged with faint laughter, A clandestine tempest raged within, chasing ever after. We smiled, we jested, yet beneath the veil of routine, A quiet maelstrom stirred where none had seen.
And when at last we departed the hallowed nave, The echo of that storm lingered, subtle yet grave.
That night, I could not exorcise him from my mind, A phantom of thought, unbidden, yet unkind. When I returned home, the echoes lingered still, so I opened the window of the world, and bent to will.
There, upon the radiant frame, his name alight, And there he smiled, a quiet vision of delight.
And for a fleeting moment, the world felt ethereal, light. My finger hovered, unsure, over the silent request I could not yet write, A fragile token of longing, suspended between hope and restraint. My friends had counseled patience, bidding me to wait. That perhaps the first step should come from him, ordained by fate.
So I did not send it—not yet—my heart remained true, Instead I knelt in the hush, my whispered prayers imbued. I closed my eyes, seeking the solace of sleep, Yet my dreams, mischievous, this tender moment chose to keep.
I saw him there, poised so near, each note drew me tight, His bow a whisper of prayer, weaving through the light. When morning broke, my chest felt airy, yet my mind roared loud, Haunted by the dream, vivid, tender, unbowed.
I whispered again, in the quiet of night,
"Lord… what meaning lies in this strange, trembling sight? Why does he linger where only my slumber convenes, threading through shadows, through secret, unseen scenes?"
Each Sunday I saw him, it seized me once more, That fevered heartbeat, that rush I could not ignore. Yet I stayed silent, my longing restrained, too fearful of loss, too fragile, too pained. Too sure of my flaws, too timid to show, Too certain the world would not let this heart grow.
So I resolved to cloak these stirrings, silent and confined, A secret tempest, hidden deep within my mind. One afternoon, my friend spoke of a crush, her dance partner near,
And how the steps between them brought neither joy nor cheer.
I laughed, and teased with a playful, fleeting art:
"Why scorn your crush as a partner? Could it be Luke owns your heart?"
She rolled her eyes, dismissing my jest with a laugh so free,
"Do not be absurd—he's older, not the type for me."
I joined her laughter, though it masked a deeper hue, a quiet longing I wished I could undo. I even schemed, in subtle, futile ways, to draw her nearer to him, to divert my own malaise.
One afternoon, as we prepared the meal for the faithful's feast, He entered the room—Luke—my pulse quickened, never ceased. Time seemed to pause, the air grew taut with silent weight, And I, hidden within my heart, wrestled with fate.
My friend stood nearby, and for a fleeting, fragile beat, I thought perhaps this moment might make my heart retreat. I tapped his shoulder, the words escaping unrefined,
"Luke, she harbors a crush!"
a jest of a certain kind.
She laughed, denied it, eyes bright with ease, And I could not tell what he thought of these.
Yet I did not care, for all I sought that day, Was to banish him from my heart's wild sway.
But forget him I could not; the mind defies, I found myself tracing his steps through the skies. Through glowing screens, I followed, reckless and bold, adding, subscribing, chasing the warmth I could hold.
I tapped "Add," a silent plea sent into the night, And held my breath, awaiting the faintest light. Then the screen glowed softly he had accepted me there, My spirit took flight, a flame cutting through the air.
That night, I knelt in the hush of my room, whispering prayers into the quiet gloom:
"Lord, why does my heart blaze this way? Why him, of all souls, to whom my soul must sway? Why the one with paths so lofty, so far, When I am but humble, a dim little star?"
Once more I dreamed him, bow tracing shadows of light, Notes like whispered psalms, threading the edge of night. At dawn I knelt, spirit quivering in silent despair, And asked my Lord again, the question heavy and rare:
"Why, O Lord, does this fervor cling within my core? Why this restless longing, this ceaseless, aching sore? Why him, whose path soars high beyond my lowly sphere, While I remain tethered, trembling, bound by fear?"
Not with my true name—I dared not appear, but cloaked in a shadow, a mask, a veneer. Through a hidden account, with tremor and fear,
I poured out my heart, the words only mine to hear.
Then silence befell, the message unseen, Days stretched like shadows, unbroken, between. My mind wavered, torn by relief and regret, A fleeting wish to erase what I had left.
At last I returned, my courage once spent, and there it awaited his answer. He read it. He replied. My pulse plummeted low, a sudden descent, a swift, unbidden woe.
I longed to vanish, to hide from the air, Yet a spark of relief whispered softly there: He knew not the truth, nor the hand that had dared, And in that small mercy, my heart was ensnared.
But peace was fleeting, for order gave way, The calm shattered quickly; all became gray.
Luke was bewildered, his mind in a haze, Guessing whose heart had dared the bold phrase. The cruelest jest, the twist most unfair He thought it was her, the friend I had teased with care.
It stung in its humor, a bittersweet pain, a laughter that hollowed, a soft, hidden strain. I masked the truth, let silence remain, and lied when she asked, concealing my claim.
I thought I had vanished, my secret secure, Yet fate is relentless, of that I was sure. From the quiet shadows of the digital night, came a message from him, sudden, startlingly bright.
He learned the truth: it was my name, my part, and shame rose suddenly, flushing my face and heart. I wished the earth would part beneath my feet, to hide me whole from that exposed defeat. Yet strangely so, a quiet calm drew near, For once revealed, the secret lost its fear.
I asked no more, expected none to stay, We were not close—yet lighter felt my way.
Knowing what silence once had done, My heart breathed free, though nothing had begun. Later, my friend recounted, mildly vexed, how Luke once asked to speak, his motives guessed.
She spoke annoyed; I listened, smiled, and knew some truths are borne in silence, soft and true.
If ever his heart should turn toward her way, I would not falter, nor feel dismay. She is radiant, gifted, brilliant, and wise, A truth so clear beneath unclouded skies. Perhaps that is why my spirit felt light, relief weaving softly through the ache of night. Perhaps I only wished the wandering to cease, to still my mind, and cradle a fragile peace.
There came a Sunday that rent my fragile calm, When Luke ascended, bearing words like psalm. His voice wove through the air, a tide so profound, each syllable stirring the pulse I had bound.
I told myself truly, my longing had died, Yet each solemn word pulled me back, deep inside. The church hushed around me, yet my soul raged like fire, A tempest of feeling I could not retire.
I bowed my head, hoping silence might stay, but Sunday revealed what my heart could not sway.
My friend whispered jests, her laughter soft, yet sly, And I feigned a smile, letting the teasing pass by. Then he sang guitar in hand, voice calm as dawn, Each note a silent arrow, my guarded heart withdrawn.
I had done so well, the longing tempered, tamed, Yet his melody awoke the fire I had unnamed. The world itself slowed, each moment stretched and thin,
As tremors coursed within me, a tempest under my skin.
My friend caught my smile, faint, fragile, and veiled, A quiet confession of a heart almost derailed.
And then the truth, like sunlight through a veil, Revealed the jest that made my heart both soar and quail. 'Twas my friend who dared to stir this playful tide, Her message of affection, not mine to confide.
A flush of relief swept through my hidden core, Yet a quiet ache lingered I could not ignore. I laughed with the jest, concealing the fire inside, A secret longing, untamed, that would not subside.
Afterward, I sensed him nearing, intent to speak, perhaps to clarify, perhaps the truth to seek. Yet I feigned deafness, withdrew from his sight, shunning his presence, consumed by quiet fright.
For fear gripped my heart, a relentless, cold tide, That closeness might lure my thoughts, too wide. Afraid to hope, lest longing rise anew, Scared that each glance would unravel what I knew.
I kept my distance, wary, silent, restrained, Lest closeness awaken the longing I feigned. Each glance from afar, each accidental near, stirred whispers of hope I dared not hear