The One Who Waited

She stands at the crossroads, a heart split in two, One path is steady, the other askew. She craves the wildfire, the storm and the chase, Not the hands that would hold, not the love full of grace. He whispers in riddles, his touch like a ghost, A promise half-spoken, a dream she loves most. He lingers, then leaves, yet she calls out his name, Chasing illusions, mistaking the game. But behind her, unshaken, another still stays, With hands that would shelter, with love set ablaze. He doesn't withhold, he doesn't pretend, He offers his soul, no need to defend. "I'll wait," he once told her, his voice calm and sure, "I'll love you through tempests, I'll love you through war." Yet she turns with a sigh, her heart drawn away, By a man made of echoes, who won’t let her stay. She watches him leave, his footsteps so light, No anger, no pleading, just swallowed-up night. And maybe—just maybe—when echoes turn cold, She'll reach for the warmth she once left untold. But some love moves forward, some doors will not wait, And the hands that once reached her have now sealed their fate. She loved the uncertain, the thrill of the free, While the one who was certain learned how to leave.