BETWEEN THE SENT AND THE SEEN
By Vera Von Monika
I. The Release
I press send,
and the words leave me exposed,
folded into the invisible,
tracing paths you have not yet crossed.
The screen glows like a small sun,
each letter a fragile lantern
swaying between hope and hesitation.
I imagine your eyes reading lines
that do not yet belong to you,
a pause thick with possibility,
a quiet pull drawing me nearer.
Every sentence is a step across a bridge
that may not exist,
yet I walk it anyway.
II. The Waiting
Minutes stretch into corridors,
hours bloom into hollow streets
where my breath maps the shadows.
Each notification sparks a false promise,
each silence presses like winter stone.
I write your name in invisible traces,
pressing it into the spaces
between my heartbeats,
folding the air around me
as though it could carry my voice to you.
III. The Imagined Touch
I see you in fragments:
your gaze lifting from the page,
your fingers poised over keys
that may never play this melody.
I fold my presence
into every imagined pause,
press my pulse into the gaps between words,
wondering if you notice,
even if only in thought.
The air resonates with your absence,
each breath a ripple
I cannot yet reach.
IV. The Pulse
The world continues,
lights flicker past my waiting eyes,
yet in quiet rooms,
I sense the shape of what might be.
The potential of your reply threads
between seconds,
like piano notes trembling on strings
I cannot yet touch.
Breaths fall like petals on a dark lake,
and I trace their paths
with hands I will never place on yours.
V. The Tension
I remain, not impatiently,
but with the weight of desire,
the pull of a connection
suspended between us.
Time stretches like piano strings,
vibrating with anticipation,
pressing against the veins of my chest.
I fold the silence into myself,
both burden and warmth entwined,
a promise I cannot yet touch,
but cannot release.
Every shadowed corner of the night
is mapped with your absence,
every empty street pulses with your unspoken presence.
VI. The Intimacy of Distance
And in this waiting, I am close to you,
even across spaces untraveled,
through lines not yet read,
through words you have not yet held.
I send fragments of myself
in the hope that they reach you
softly,
like a melody in a quiet room,
like breath pressed into the air
long after it has passed.
Each heartbeat writes a secret letter
I do not dare to send,
but which traces the contours of your soul
in every tremor.
VII. The Reverberation
Until the screen darkens,
until the day folds into night,
I remain here,
between the sent and the seen.
I feel the rhythm of a reply
that may arrive,
that may not,
yet you are present
in every precise, fragile word
I dared to offer.
The air vibrates with possibility,
as though the world itself
waits with me,
holding its breath
between the letters,
between the seconds,
between us.
VIII. The Afterglow
Even if your reply never comes,
I am changed by sending.
The act of reaching across silence
lays my soul bare
and stitches the invisible thread
that ties me to you.
I linger in the spaces I carved for you,
where your voice might have landed,
where your presence might have rested.
And in that quiet,
I find something eternal:
the courage to feel,
the bravery to wait,
the art of offering
a part of myself
without guarantee,
without claim,
but with every ounce of truth
I possess.
IX. The Resolution
Until the day folds,
until the stars vanish behind light,
I remain
between the sent and the seen,
a witness to possibility,
a curator of fragile hope.
And whether your words arrive or not,
I know I have created a space
that only you could fill,
and in that, I am unafraid,
even in absence,
even in waiting,
even in silence.
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