If only I could send this peace to you.
The morning awakens slowly, wrapped in a hush so gentle it feels like the earth itself is still dreaming. The air is thick with the scent of damp soil, a lingering trace of last night’s rain. The sky, stretched wide in muted grays, holds a quiet promise—perhaps another rain, perhaps only the weight of unshed tears hovering in the clouds.
A delicate wind moves through the trees, carrying with it the cool breath of dawn. It glides over wet grass, brushing against leaves still jeweled with trembling raindrops. The world feels cleansed, reborn in its own stillness. Even the distant hum of the city has softened, as if it, too, is caught in this fleeting peace.
I stand there, breathing it all in. The air tastes fresh, like the first sip of water after a long thirst, cool and soothing as it settles in my lungs. A shiver—not from cold, but from something unspoken—runs down my skin as the breeze curls around me, light as a whisper.
And in that moment, I think of you, H.
If only I could send this peace to you.
I imagine the wind carrying it, slipping unseen through the streets, weaving between buildings and traffic lights, past hurried footsteps and tired eyes. I picture it finding its way to you, settling around you like an unseen veil, brushing against your skin in the same way it brushes against mine.
Would you feel it?
Would you lift your face ever so slightly, sensing a shift in the air? Would the coolness of the morning kiss your cheeks just as it kisses mine? Would the scent of damp earth and softened rain remind you of something distant, something warm, though you cannot quite place it?
Maybe you would be sitting by your window, coffee in hand, unaware of why the steam curling from the cup feels just a bit more comforting today. Maybe, as you step outside, you would pause at the way the wind wraps around you, the way it carries an unexplainable lightness.
Would your fingers, absentmindedly, trace the cool glass of your windowpane, mirroring the way mine do? Would your breath slow for just a second, as if the air itself whispered to you, though you cannot hear the words?
I hope so.
And so, I close my eyes and whisper a prayer.
"Dear God, if my longing cannot reach him, let my prayers do. If my voice cannot comfort him, let the wind carry my love. Let him feel the peace I feel. Let his burdens be lifted, even just a little. Let him wake up today feeling a bit lighter, a bit warmer, as if the universe itself is holding him gently."
I don’t know if prayers travel through the air like the wind does. I don’t know if they ever arrive at their destination. But I send mine anyway, hoping that somewhere, somehow, you feel it.
And perhaps, that will be enough.
***
Dear readers,
This weekend, I found myself longing. It’s not a type that suffocates, but somehow made me feel like not wanting to do anything but face my feelings. It’s been a while. Perhaps I should seek a professional, asking why I love this deeply. If only I knew how capable my heart is of loving, I would be more careful. But just like people say, I cannot blame the wind for the mess it made when I was the one who opened the window, right?
Everything reminds me of him, even things that don’t hold a memory of him. I guess this is what happens when you make someone your whole world.
