One Night
One night,
come closer and let my soul ask quietly.
Let me dine on the sympathy
you give without trying,
the kind that lives in your touch,
in how you stay.
This isn’t something to be forced.
It’s a truth that already knows our names.
Care unfolding slowly—
unguarded, unafraid.
I’ll take care of you
when your strength loosens,
when your thoughts run thin and tired.
Look away if you must—
I will still be here,
steady, choosing you without demand.
If a tear slips free,
I’ll catch it without asking why.
Let it mean you feel safe enough to be seen,
safe enough to believe
I’m right—
about loving you.
Stay,
or don’t.
Either way, my hands remember
how to hold you gently.
Author’s Note: This piece leans into the soft architecture of being needed—the way a quiet room can become a refuge just because someone chooses to stay. I wanted to honor the kind of love that holds a light without asking for an audience, that lets devotion arrive as a warm, steady shelter instead of a storm. If Letters from Xhale has a heartbeat, it’s in these small nights where care speaks low and still manages to be heard.
