Agape in the Silence

 Inspired through being loved, I learned that even in silence and closed doors, agape lingers as gratitude and learning “trust.” ~Adena M’lynn

Why do you haunt my mind?

I thought silence would be the cure,

thought that if I blocked you,

I could finally breathe again.

But every time,

my trembling finger hovered over the button,

I’d undo it—

because love isn’t built to erase.

Your smile—

it ambushes me.

In laughter I wasn’t expecting,

in words as small as chigger,

in texts that should remained unwritten —

and suddenly there,

like a kindness that refuses to die, “hiiii”.

I don’t understand

why I had to do

the very thing

that hurt you—

lie.

I never wanted to be the one

to crack the fragile glass of trust.

My heart breaks as I say this:

I never wanted harm

to carry my name.

But my name

has too often stood

for pain.

You—

you were the mirror that showed me

how my actions ripple outwards.

You taught me

that kindness isn’t an idea,

it’s a practice.

That love—

the real kind,

the agape kind—

doesn’t demand,

it doesn’t chain,

it only gives, even when it aches.

So if the door is closed,

I do not blame you.

Some doors are holy in their shutting.

Some silence is the only way

a wound can heal.

I stand here,

not with bitterness,

but with gratitude,

for the lessons, for the laughter,

for the reminder that even a mess of a human like me can still carry

the flicker of divine love—

and keep it alive,

long after the room has emptied.