Chapter Nine
No.128
© Copyright Reserved - United Kingdom
Ideal Screen Composition 1024 x 768
Ideal Screen Composition 1024 x 768
Author: Nigel Wilcox 19.08.25
There is a grove beyond the reach of maps, where the trees lean gently,
as if they’ve heard your laughter
and never forgotten it.
I walk there often,
barefoot through the hush,
where the air carries your presence
like a whispered vow.
The leaves shimmer with moments
we almost lived—
a glance, a breath,
a word that hovered
but never fell.
You are not beside me,
but you are everywhere ...
in the curve of shadow,
in the hush between heartbeats,
in the way the wind pauses
as if listening for your voice.
This place does not speak,
but it remembers.
It holds our unfinished sentences
like sacred seeds,
waiting for the season
when love might bloom
without fear.
I gather what remains
your smile, your silence,
the way your eyes paused
as if recognising
a story we hadn’t yet written.
And though I leave alone,
I carry you with me...
not as absence,
but as becoming.
For in this place,
love is not lost.
It is planted.
It is tended.
It waits.
as if they’ve heard your laughter
and never forgotten it.
I walk there often,
barefoot through the hush,
where the air carries your presence
like a whispered vow.
The leaves shimmer with moments
we almost lived—
a glance, a breath,
a word that hovered
but never fell.
You are not beside me,
but you are everywhere ...
in the curve of shadow,
in the hush between heartbeats,
in the way the wind pauses
as if listening for your voice.
This place does not speak,
but it remembers.
It holds our unfinished sentences
like sacred seeds,
waiting for the season
when love might bloom
without fear.
I gather what remains
your smile, your silence,
the way your eyes paused
as if recognising
a story we hadn’t yet written.
And though I leave alone,
I carry you with me...
not as absence,
but as becoming.
For in this place,
love is not lost.
It is planted.
It is tended.
It waits.