As he sits alone, in silence wrapped tight,
Lost in thoughts that blur the line of night,
Voices around him, insist it's done,
"Move on," they say, "you're chasing none."
Yet deep within, a whisper remains,
A pulse that beats in quiet refrains.
He tries to leave, to let it all go,
But signs, like stars, begin to show.
Could it be fate, weaving its thread?
A guiding light where all hope had fled.
"Give her time," it softly speaks,
"For she feels more than words can reach."
In this dance of doubt and grace,
He finds hope in the empty space.
For sometimes love, though out of sight,
Is just waiting for the perfect light.
