I’ll wait for you.
Not because the world expects it,
but because something in my heart changed the day our paths crossed.
People tell me to move on.
They remind me that you chose a different direction,
that silence is an answer,
that time and distance are signs.
Maybe they are right.
Maybe logic has already drawn a conclusion
my heart refuses to sign.
But I’ll wait for you anyway.
Not in the naïve way a lover waits at a window.
Not in the desperate way someone refuses to accept reality.
But in the quiet, dignified way someone cherishes
what was real to them—even if it was brief,
even if it was unfinished.
I’ll wait for you even if you never ask me to.
Even if you never return.
Even if the world calls it pointless.
Because this isn’t about possession.
It’s not about forcing destiny,
or demanding a story that was never promised.
It’s about honoring what you meant to me.
It’s about acknowledging that your presence
was more than a conversation,
more than curiosity,
more than two strangers passing time.
We talked through nights,
through doubts,
through fears we never shared with anyone else.
You let me see not the surface,
but the depth you usually guard.
And though the ending was firm—
and the boundary was clear—
I cannot pretend the connection didn’t matter.
I know you may never wait for me.
You have your life.
Your history.
Your reasons.
Your exhaustion.
Your clarity.
I understand.
Your choice does not make me blind.
It does not make me stubborn.
It does not make me entitled.
It simply means your path and mine
are not aligned today.
But waiting does not always mean hoping.
Sometimes waiting means healing.
Sometimes it means learning why things failed.
Sometimes it means honoring a feeling
without turning it into a pursuit.
I’ll wait for you—
not at the expense of my dignity,
not as an escape from my responsibilities,
not as rebellion against fate.
I’ll wait because you were not trivial.
Because what we shared was sincere.
Because some people pass through our lives
like seasons—
and some remain like constellations.
Waiting, for me,
does not mean chasing.
It means remembering without bitterness.
It means respecting you enough to step back—
and respecting myself enough to not erase the past.
You may never return.
You may build a life elsewhere.
You may forget the weight of our words.
And still,
I will not regret meeting you.
I will not regret feeling for you.
I will not regret the nights we shared
when it felt like honesty was the only language we spoke.
I’ll wait—
not to reclaim you,
but to understand myself.
To learn.
To grow.
To accept.
Because sometimes,
waiting is not a promise that someone will come back.
Sometimes,
waiting is a promise that you won’t forget what they taught you.
And if fate never brings us together again,
at least I know this:
I waited with respect.
I waited without forcing.
I waited with dignity.
And I waited with love—
even if love remained unfinished.