"When words are finally said,
they don't fall —
they land softly,
like leaves returning to the earth they always belonged to."
Dear Diary,
He asked me to meet him tonight.
No explanation.
Just: "Are you free after sunset? Let's go somewhere the sky can see us."
So I wore the hoodie.
Because somehow it feels like a promise now.
Because it still smells like that letter,
and all the things we never thought we'd say.
We met by the gate between our houses,
where the lamplight barely touches the grass.
He had a flashlight. I brought my heart.
And we walked.
Not far — just into the field behind the neighborhood
where the stars get to shine a little brighter.
Neither of us spoke at first.
It wasn't awkward.
It was like… both of us were trying not to wake the moment.
Then he said:
"You got my letter?"
I nodded.
"And I read it every day since."
(I hadn't. Just twice. But my heart did.)
He smiled — that lopsided kind that makes it hard to breathe.
And then I reached into my notebook.
The one I always carry.
And handed him my letter.
He didn't read it out loud.
He didn't need to.
When he looked up,
his eyes were the color of every gentle thing that's ever lived.
And then —
he reached for my hand.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he'd been waiting for permission from the stars,
and they finally whispered yes.
"I'm not good at a lot of things," he said.
"But I think I could be good at loving you."
I didn't reply.
Because I was busy memorizing that sentence
and tucking it into the deepest drawer of my soul.
Instead, I leaned into him.
Like chapters lean into each other
when the story knows where it's going.
And we just stood there —
his hoodie around me,
his hand in mine,
and the sky writing poems above us.
Diary,
love didn't crash in.
It crept in quietly.
Like twilight.
But now, it's here.
And I'm not afraid.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌙💫🖋️