To Those Who Keep Asking

When you ask me

When will life finally settle?

what answer do you seek

for a page

even fate has not yet turned?

I do not know

what still waits in the margins—

whether certain doors will open

or remain unnamed.

That knowledge was never mine to hold.

But this much I know:

I have carried the weight

many women carry unseen—

the long patience, the careful silence,

the art of enduring without witnesses.

Happiness passed briefly,

yet sorrow learned my language.

Do not ask me to be strong.

Do not ask me to keep hoping.

Hope is born of longing,

and longing is a thing

I have gently laid down.

I once asked the Divine

for only one kindness:

that the one I chose

would choose me too.

That prayer was answered—

and it is enough.

Some answers

do not need repetition.

Hope walks easily

with lives that follow

familiar roads.

Mine has always moved

through bends and shadows,

learning differently,

loving deeply.

Yes, once—

when love first arrived,

hope stayed with me.

When I was once chosen,

it sparked again.

But now,

it has grown quiet.

So let me be.

Let my silences remain mine.

Not every life needs explaining,

not every future needs naming.

Some journeys are meant

to be lived gently,

without questions.