for the one who found her and stayed
She always felt it—
a quiet tug,
some invisible thread wrapped around her heart,
pulling softly through time and distance.
She didn’t know where it led, only that it was there.
Constant.
Patient.
Waiting.
For years, she mistook it for longing.
For restlessness.
For a kind of loneliness that couldn’t be named.
But it wasn’t loneliness—it was him.
It was always him.
He was the other end of the thread.
The soul she hadn’t met yet,
but had somehow always known.
And when they finally crossed paths,
the world didn’t erupt into noise.
Instead, everything went quiet.
That rare kind of silence that only comes
when the heart is finally heard.
When the waiting ends.
When home has a face.
He didn’t feel like someone new.
He felt like a return.
Like the final page of a book she thought had no ending.
Like something the stars had whispered into the dark
and she’d spent her whole life trying to hear.
He looked at her like he’d known her in a thousand lifetimes.
He loved her with a gentleness
that never asked her to shrink or soften her edges—
only to be exactly who she was.
With him, there was no pretending.
No performing.
Just breath, and laughter, and warmth.
A kind of peace she didn’t believe she’d ever find.
She used to wonder if the thread had broken.
If fate had forgotten her.
If she’d missed her chance.
But fate never forgets.
The thread may tangle,
but it never breaks.
Now, in the quiet moments between them—
in shared glances and morning coffee,
in soft smiles and hands that always find each other—
she feels it.
The thread.
Still there.
Still holding.
Not pulling anymore—just resting.
Because they’re here.
Together.
Home.
—Sammie