I must have loved him before,

somewhere.

My heart can only muse.

How else can I explain

the quiet knowing—

that although I did not love him yet,

I would soon—

forever.

I must have already felt it,

somehow.

But I didn’t listen.

How could I have known?

Alone for nine years,

until I finally saw _him_—

and everything about him

shone in Technicolor.

I just always knew

it would be him.

And now I believe—

there was a purpose in the waiting.

A mercy in the distance.

A wisdom deeper than mine

carving paths I couldn’t see.

Love came when it was meant to.

In its season.

Beautiful in its time. (Ecclesiastes 3:11)