27/06/2025
When Earth Waits for a Star
(6-27-2025)
I am the Earth,
finite, aged, and turning endlessly
in quiet revolutions,
anchored to a time I do not control.
And you,
you are the star I cannot touch,
far beyond orbit,
yet always arriving
in the silence of the sky.
Between us
is not just space,
but the weight of becoming.
You burn from afar,
but I do not question your warmth.
Even in absence,
you have taught me how to glow inwardly.
Some say love is presence,
but I have learned it is also patience.
For what is distance
but a challenge to existence,
a question that asks,
"Will you still wait,
even when waiting no longer promises reward?"
I do not wait for your return like a season.
I wait
because in this waiting,
I find fragments of who I am,
a being thrown into time,
longing for something
that cannot be possessed,
only witnessed.
To wait for you
is to dwell in the in-between,
to suffer the absence
and yet remain faithful to presence,
to trust that meaning
is not always seen,
but sometimes simply endured.
If Earth can continue
spinning beneath an indifferent sky,
and still call it nightfall and dawn,
then I too can endure this orbit,
this quiet promise between our souls
that time and space
are not barriers,
but the very conditions
that make love real.
