I got here quite late
to be the hand that holds yours in this universe,
and yet,
I still came knowingly.
Not by accident,
not carried by some careless wind,
but with the quiet understanding
that timing is not always kind,
and still,
it is sometimes enough.
I arrived after seasons
had already written their stories on you,
after laughter had come and gone,
after silences had learned your name.
And I do not ask to erase them.
I would not dare.
I only stand here now,
in this small crossing of lives,
aware that I am late,
but not lost.
Because something in me
recognized something in you
as if the universe,
despite its endless distance,
still knew how to bend
two separate paths
into a single moment.
And if my hand finds yours,
even for a while,
let it be known,
I did not arrive early,
I did not arrive on time,
but I arrived
fully aware
of what it might mean
to stay.
