You surface from the depth of my longing,
not as a rescue,
but as a rising-
like breath I didn't know I was holding
until it filled my chest.

You arrive quietly,
without the ceremony of footsteps,
without the sound of knocking.
You are just there,
like light through a curtain I forgot to close.

I do not call you miracle,
nor memory,
but something in between-
a hush that lingers after a name is spoken
and never answered.

I have waited
without counting the days.
What are calendars to desire?
What is time
when the ache is constant?

You surface-
and the world
does not change.
Only I do.