I wrote “I’ll Wait by the Moon” on a night when it felt braver to stay still than to reach. It grew from the quiet conviction that love can be most honest when it chooses to wait, not chase, listening for the smallest shifts in the dark.
I’ll Wait by the Moon
She said, without a tremor,
“I’ll wait by the moon—
where nothing burns,
where love forgets how to wound,
where silence keeps me whole.”
And I, with skin still marked by fire,
answered without thinking,
“I’ll wait by the sun—
though it scars,
though it blinds,
though it asks everything of me.”
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I wrote this with the moon as my only co-conspirator, to remember that some devotions are quiet and stubborn and unseen. If you are waiting for something that hasn’t learned its way back to you yet, know that I am keeping the night company beside you. This is my small proof that patience can be a kind of rebellion.
— Author’s Note: This poem leans into the kind of love that does not chase, but waits—steady, almost motionless, in its own orbit. I’m still learning whether that stillness is a quiet strength or a soft surrender, and most days it feels like both. If you recognize yourself in that waiting, consider this a small, whispered room where your patience is seen, not questioned.
