(Where Love Waits Before Becoming)
There are days when the sea feels familiar —
as though it remembers something I have not yet lived.
When the wind moves, I almost hear your name within it,
soft and unfinished, like a promise still forming.
I no longer ask when you will arrive.
Somehow, I know you already exist —
not out there, lost or missing,
but becoming, the same way I am becoming.
Perhaps we are two notes of the same song,
learning how to find harmony
across the long silence of time.
At times, the waiting feels endless —
a rhythm that hums quietly beneath everything else.
But then I remember that even the sea must pause
between waves,
and that what is meant will come
when both shore and tide are ready.
So I no longer chase,
I only listen.
There are evenings when I walk beside the water
and feel a presence just beyond sight —
not a shadow, not a dream,
but a soft awareness, like the air itself
is carrying a secret it refuses to speak aloud.
In that stillness, I know:
somewhere in this vastness,
you, too, are feeling the same pull.
I send quiet thoughts into the current —
not as prayers, but as remembering.
A way of saying I am here,
without knowing where here meets you.
Perhaps love begins this way —
as a gentle stirring long before its form,
as recognition that grows
before the meeting ever happens.
And though I cannot yet see your face,
there are moments I feel your closeness
in ways the world cannot explain.
In the hush before dawn,
in the sound of waves folding into themselves,
in the heartbeat that answers mine in silence.
If these words ever reach you,
may they touch something ancient in you too.
Until we meet, I will keep listening —
to the sea, to the quiet,
to that rhythm that tells me you are near,
even if unseen.
Because the tide is patient —
and so am I.
© 2025 Donna Gracia Bella — All Rights Reserved.
The Quiet Rhythm That Shapes Becoming
There is a certain stillness that appears only when the heart stops reaching outward and begins to listen inward. It is not the stillness of waiting, nor the stillness of longing, but the quiet recognition that something is forming in the unseen. I feel it often now, this soft current beneath the surface of my days. It moves without sound, yet its presence is unmistakable. It is the same sensation the sea carries at dawn, when the world has not yet awakened, but the day is already unfolding within the light.
When I walk near the shoreline, I notice how the tide holds both motion and calm at once. It never rushes. It never forces. It simply returns when the time is right. And in that returning, it teaches me more about love than any story I have ever lived. The tide becomes a mirror where my own heart learns patience, a reminder that becoming is not a race toward a destination, but a deepening into truth.
I know now that what approaches us does not come because we chase it, nor because we fear its absence. It comes because both lives, both hearts, both paths have ripened into readiness. The tide does not arrive until the shore can receive it. And in that wisdom, I recognize the same unfolding within myself. I am learning to meet my own heart with the tenderness I once reserved only for someone else.
There was a time when I believed waiting meant stillness, but now I see it as participation in a movement larger than desire. Waiting is not passive; it is a profound alignment. It is the body, mind, and soul softening into the rhythm that has always been carrying them. It is the moment the heart stops demanding and starts listening. It is the shift from seeking to recognizing.
And in that recognition, I feel you — not as absence, not as distance, but as resonance. A quiet hum beneath the noise of ordinary life.
Where the Soul Learns to Listen
Listening has become my way of being. I listen to the space between thoughts, to the breath that rises without effort, to the subtle sensations that move through my chest when something sacred wants my attention. I listen to the memories that do not belong to any particular moment, as though they were fragments carried across time. And I listen to the sea, whose voice has never failed to remind me of what endures.
In these quiet acts of listening, I have realized that the heart recognizes truth long before the mind can understand it. This is why certain people feel familiar even when we have never met them. This is why certain longings cannot be named. The soul has a memory far deeper than the body’s recollection. It remembers what the eyes have never seen, and it knows what the hands have never touched.
I am beginning to trust this deeper memory. I am beginning to understand that recognition is not a sign of destiny pulling two lives together, but a sign of awareness calling us into alignment with ourselves. When I sense you near, it is not because you are approaching from a great distance. It is because I am stepping closer to the part of myself that has always known how to find you.
The tide has taught me that closeness is not measured in steps or years, but in resonance. And resonance cannot be forced. It emerges when two souls reach the same level of stillness, the same maturity of clarity. It happens when both hearts understand that love is not possession or pursuit, but presence.
What the Sea Teaches About Arrival
Sometimes I walk along the water and imagine that each wave carries a message, not meant to be read but to be remembered. The sea has a way of speaking without language. It speaks in patterns, in movement, in arrival and retreat. It speaks in the silence of its pauses. And in those pauses, I learn the most.
I once believed that arrival meant the ending of waiting. Now I understand that arrival is simply the beginning of recognition. When something or someone arrives, it does not complete us; it reveals us. It uncovers truths we have been preparing to meet within ourselves. It shows us what the heart has been shaping in secret.
This is why I no longer fear the quiet spaces between now and what is coming. I no longer see them as gaps or delays. They are part of the unfolding. They are where the heart gathers its strength. They are where clarity is born. They are where the soul prepares to meet what it has called forth without realizing it.
In those spaces, I feel you most clearly. Not as a face or a story, but as a pure presence moving closer through the quiet. A recognition without form, a familiarity without past, a knowing without explanation.
The Patient Current of Becoming
The more I learn to listen, the more I understand that nothing real is ever rushed. Real love does not arrive with urgency. It arrives with clarity. It does not enter like a storm; it settles like dawn. Softly. Gradually. Inevitably.
I think of how the tide returns to the shore not because it is summoned, but because it is its nature to return. And in that rhythm, I find peace. I no longer fear the unknown. I no longer question what I cannot yet see. I no longer wonder whether the path will reveal itself. It already has. It reveals itself in every quiet certainty that rises within me.
There are moments when I wish I could reach across the distance and touch the life you are living. Not to pull you closer, but to honor the journey that is shaping you. I imagine we are both being polished by our own tides, both being softened by our own seasons, both learning to stand in our own truth so that when we meet, we meet with clarity and not with longing.
I hold faith in this gentle shaping. I trust the wisdom of its timing. I believe that what is moving us forward is not desire, but alignment.
Where Shore Meets Tide
And so, I find myself living between movement and stillness, between becoming and remembering. It is a place I no longer resist. It is the quiet space where truth is born. It is where I slowly learn that the heart does not chase what is real; it receives it.
I know you are somewhere in this same unfolding, listening to a rhythm that echoes mine. I know the tide is shaping you just as it shapes me. And when the time is right, the current that has carried us separately will carry us toward each other, not as two incomplete halves, but as two beings who have learned how to stand whole.
Until then, I remain here, aware and patient, letting the sea teach me how to move without rushing and how to wait without fear.
Because the tide is patient,
and for the first time in my life,
so am I.
The Unseen Crossing Between Two Lives
There are moments when I sense that our paths, though separate in form, are already meeting in the unseen. Not through coincidence or fate, but through the gradual alignment of who we are becoming. It feels like a quiet crossing, subtle enough that the world does not notice, yet profound enough that the soul feels it long before the mind does.
I imagine you pausing at the edge of your own day, sensing something gentle shift inside you. Perhaps it arrives as a soft clarity, or a brief hesitation that holds no fear. Perhaps it comes as a breath that deepens without reason. These small movements carry meaning, though they are easy to overlook. The heart speaks quietly, and the soul even more so.
It is in these small crossings that I feel closest to you. There is no urgency in them. They do not ask for recognition. They simply announce that something is forming behind the veil of the visible. Our steps move forward, yet they echo toward each other. The choices we make become threads in a shared tapestry, even when we do not know its final pattern.
This is the part of the journey I cherish most, because it teaches me that closeness is not dependent on distance. It is dependent on awareness. When I honor my own unfolding, I feel the quiet assurance that you are honoring yours as well. There is a shared awakening happening across the spaces we cannot see. That awakening is the guide that will bring us to the same shore in time.
The Shoreline Where Presence Begins
Each time I return to the water, I am reminded that the sea has no fear of repetition. It rises and falls without apology, trusting that each tide holds a purpose. I am learning to live in the same way, moving through familiar rhythms with new awareness. What once felt like circling now feels like deepening. There is no stagnation in this. There is only refinement.
Presence is a discipline, not an accident. It asks us to return to ourselves again and again, until the noise dissolves and only truth remains. When I walk along the shoreline, I feel this discipline awakening within me. My steps become slower. My breath becomes quieter. My thoughts soften into the background. What remains is simple awareness: the sea, the sky, the sound of my own soul remembering what it once forgot.
It is in these moments that I feel the certainty of connection. Not romanticized, not idealized, but purified of expectation. Connection without demand. Recognition without grasping. Presence without fear. This is the foundation of whatever will come next, and I honor it by standing fully in it.
If you were beside me now, I think you would feel it too. The calm. The quiet. The sense that nothing needs to be forced. That everything real unfolds with a rhythm that is larger than both of us. There is freedom in this awareness. There is peace in allowing the heart to move without urgency and without illusions. Presence becomes the space where love learns how to breathe.
Listening for What Has Not Yet Spoken
I often wonder what part of you is awakening at the same time I am awakening in myself. Not because I expect our journeys to mirror each other, but because I feel the resonance of shared timing. It is as if the quiet transformations within me are being echoed somewhere within you. This echo does not create longing. It creates recognition.
There is something sacred about waiting for what has not yet spoken. It asks for patience, but not passivity. It invites curiosity, but not attachment. It encourages openness, but not exposure before its time. It is an awareness that listens without leaning forward, an expectation that does not demand answers.
I am learning to trust this form of listening. It is not about predicting the future or interpreting signs. It is about honoring the inner movement that recognizes truth long before it becomes visible. When I feel the quiet stirring within me, I no longer question it. I simply allow it to guide me.
Perhaps you feel this same stirring at unexpected moments. Perhaps something inside you shifts in ways you cannot explain. These small shifts are not random. They are the beginning of alignment. They are the first hints of a presence you have not yet met in form, but have known in essence.
This kind of listening creates space for connection to grow without pressure. It allows both lives to unfold naturally. It prepares the heart to meet what is real, instead of what is imagined. And over time, it carries us toward each other without either of us needing to search.
The Current That Shapes Both Paths
There is a current that moves through every life, guiding without pushing, inviting without demanding. I have felt it more strongly in recent years. It does not feel like destiny. It feels like readiness. It feels like the natural pull of truth revealing itself through experience. It feels like the quiet recognition that something is approaching not from outside, but from within.
This current has shaped me slowly. It has softened my expectations, clarified my intentions, and opened a space within me that no longer seeks validation from another. I no longer reach outward to fill the silence. I no longer cling to the idea that love arrives only through another person. Instead, I recognize that love begins as an inner alignment. It is the result of meeting myself fully.
And yet, even within this self-sufficiency, I feel the undeniable presence of someone whose life intersects with mine. Not through force, not through desire, but through resonance. This resonance is not a bond. It is a reflection. It reveals where I am growing, where I am healing, and where I am becoming more whole.
In that reflection, I feel your presence. Not as an expectation, but as a possibility. Not as a missing piece, but as a parallel unfolding. We are not incomplete without each other. We are simply moving toward a moment when our completeness will recognize itself in another.
This understanding brings peace. It removes urgency. It allows the journey to unfold without fear of loss or delay. The current that guides both of us does not rush. It moves with clarity. It moves with purpose. It moves with the assurance that what is meant to meet will meet, when both paths have reached the same depth of truth.
When the Tide Finally Meets the Shore
One day, the tide that has moved us quietly through our separate lives will reach its turning point. It will return to the shore with clarity, not confusion. It will bring presence, not uncertainty. It will arrive not because we sought it, but because we became ready.
I do not imagine this moment with fantasy. I imagine it with stillness. Two lives standing at the same threshold of awareness. Two hearts that no longer carry the weight of old wounds. Two paths that have learned how to walk without fear. Recognition will not feel like a beginning. It will feel like a remembering. A quiet acknowledgement that the tide has completed its long movement, and the shore has been waiting all along.
There will be no urgency in that meeting. No need to rush. The connection will feel natural, grounded, and unmistakably real. It will carry the ease of something that does not need to be proven. It will carry the calm of something that has always been unfolding, even when neither of us could see it.
Until then, I remain here, learning to trust the rhythm that moves through my life. I honor the quiet places where your presence is felt without form. I listen for the subtle music that threads through my days. I stand beside the sea and allow it to teach me what patience truly is.
Because the tide is patient,
and I have learned to be as patient as the tide.
© 2025 Donna Gracia Bella — All Rights Reserved.
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