What do we say here,
here in this breathless hour?
This hour that came after the many we waited.
The hour of hands held and tears wiped
and that quiet vibration that dances across the floor
and whispers:
"Lean into me and hear, You
are exactly where you are supposed to be."
What words do we say here,
what could possibly do justice
to all we will become?
We are, and today was the most eloquent proof of it
we could ever offer, simply indescribable.
We are wordless.
We are the empty space after a long paragraph,
the pause between chapters, the blank pages
at the end of the most brilliant and breathtaking book.
We are that wordless and perfect silence
before the book is snapped shut.
We are without words because the ones that could actually explain
us have yet to be invented,
have yet to be cataloged and defined, accepted by Webster
and printed for the world to learn.
What do we say here,
here in this breathless moment?
This moment that will fall away to make room
for a lifetime more,
this moment that came after a million others,
all leading us here.
This moment of stolen glances and frozen seconds
and the foreheads leaning into chests
filled with hearts beating
like drums in the night.
This moment that whispers:
"Lean in and here ... You are home."
