When you hear someone’s pain—
not as sound, but as silence screaming—
when you hear their loss,
not as grief, but as a hollowed-out hymn—
when you hear their smile,
a breath caught between tears and light—
their laugh, a bell rung underwater—
their joy, a wildfire in a cathedral—
their tears, not falling, but singing in their voice…
You don’t just listen.
You tune into their frequency.
The one only souls know how to broadcast.
When you feel the caring hand that holds yours
not to steady, but to say, I’m here—
when you feel the kind lips press your forehead
like a prayer written in warmth—
when you taste soul food on your tongue
and it doesn’t just feed your body,
but stitches your spirit back together—
when the water of compassion rolls through you
like a river finding its way to the sea inside your chest—
when empathy doesn’t speak…
it breathes with you—
And when that voice is the passionate song of someone you love,
not because they’re perfect,
but because they know your broken notes by heart—
when that touch is the dream you didn’t dare name—
the one you share in silence,
in coffee steam, in midnight glances—
when every step you take
feels anchored by the certainty
that your person has your back—
even when you forget to ask—
And when the stars align not by chance,
but by covenant—
synchronicities flickering like fireflies
in the velvet dark of your nights—
Then you know:
Grace is not a gift.
It is the architecture of belonging.
The will to create,
Builds the walls.
Grace, Paints the windows.
It lets the light in.
It turns a house into a home—
inside and out.
You are not lucky
because things worked out.
You are blessed
because you showed up—
and they did too.
You are not what could’ve been.
You are.
Here.
Now.
Whole.