Literary Folio - The Writer's Thread Vol. 2

[Truthbetold]

The silence in between messages

Not empty

But full of everything we just said

The joy lingers

Like an invisible warmth enveloping me

I breathe deeply and soldier on

Even as hours pass and darkness approaches

The faint glow of another message

Gives me peace

Edited June 2 by Truthbetold
*

[Truthbetold]

A quiet figure stitched into the dusk
until the world around her starts to blur

Dusk held its breath

A car between us,
metal, shadow, interruption—
The universe teasing

Then she stepped past it

Just like that

Faded white polo
soft with time
Jeans that had lived more days than mine
Her hair catching light that remained
Her eyes didn’t want attention
Demure, careful
A sheepish smile
Unsure she was allowed to be seen.

But purposefully, I saw. 

One unremarkable step forward—
No warning,
no gradual unfolding,
Just the sudden, undeniable truth:

Yes... I have a crush on her. 

Edited June 2 by Truthbetold
*

[Truthbetold]

Days like nothing important happened
 
Small table, warm cups, a plate of something we didn’t rush through
Music, soft enough that we never raise our voices
Gentle enough that it never asked for attention

We talked, the way people do when there’s nowhere else they need to be
Sharing memories worn smooth from being held so often
Somehow, they never feel old

Sometimes, we didn’t talk at all
The silence came easy, like it knew us well. Not awkward, not empty
The kind of silence that says: you don’t need to fill this
You’re here. That’s enough

There are light moments, there are heavy ones
But all felt the same in the end— held, understood, safe
It’s strange how something so ordinary can feel so rare

Still, when it ends, there’s always that small sadness
Not heavy, not sharp—The kind that lingers as we gather our things and step back into everything waiting outside
You never quite get used to that part

But there’s something underneath —something gentler, almost reassuring
A quiet certainty 
That somewhere ahead, there’s another table, another cup, another stretch of time where nothing extraordinary happens, and yet everything feels exactly as it should

So we leave, carrying it with us

And somehow, that’s enough to make the ending feel —
More like a pause before we begin again

[Truthbetold]

There’s a rhythm to this—
not quite routine,
not quite surprise.

I stand inside it anyway,
letting memory drift in:

the way joy finds you quickly,
how quiet settles around you without staying quiet,
how even the night
seems to soften its edges when you’re near.

I pretend I’m only passing time.
Time pretends not to notice me noticing.

Then something shifts—
light, movement,
her familiar shape drawing closer.

Anticipation rises, so does apprehension

And I feel it again,
that small, unguarded lift—

like I’ve stumbled into a moment
that already knows me.

She's here — All is right again. 

[Truthbetold]

Waiting—
But pretending I’m not.

As the minutes slowly ebb,
I’m collecting small things:
the sound of your hearty laugh,
the warmth you leave behind in air,
the absent minded melodies you sing,  
your smooth shape in shadows. 

Snapshots,
you don’t know I keep.

In these episodes of longing,
Your memories keep me going.

Finally—
You’re here again.
As if the past
decides to breathe again.
 

Edited June 7 by Truthbetold
*

[Truthbetold]

I didn’t know something so small
could linger for so long.

That umami from the searing of salmon, steam curling from mashed potatoes,
Your hands setting the meal
like kindness had always lived there.

The first bite, as good as the last,
Over stories passing back and forth
until time slipped quietly out the door.

I remember the surprise most.
Not loud, not dramatic—
just the gentle shock
of being cared for
in a way I never learned to expect.

Like light left on for someone
coming home late.

That first simple gesture,
With soft conversation filling the spaces.

This is what stays with me:
how naturally you made room for me
inside your care,
as if tenderness
was the easiest thing in the world.

Some moments announce themselves.
This one didn’t.

It simply stayed.

 

Edited June 7 by Truthbetold

[Truthbetold]

The city passes in slow-moving colors
while you sing softly, 
songs that form the soundtrack of our time.

Silence is broken happily
Chiding me for cutting lines
Or bending some rules—
Small observations delivered as affection 
And disguised as critique.

I remember smiling.
I remember you laughing.
I remember the quiet after.

Not empty quiet—
the kind that settles easily between two people
who no longer feel the need to fill them.

Funny how memory chooses its treasures.
Not grand declarations.
Not dramatic moments.

Just your voice in the passenger seat,
the night outside the windows,
and the strange way even time itself
seemed happier to slow down around you.
 

[Truthbetold]

You carry so much
and yet, you remain in brightness.
Not untouched by difficulty,
Just unwilling to let it darken your days.

Still laughing—
especially at yourself.
Still finding beauty in ordinary days.
Still meeting the world,
with open hands instead of hardened ones.

I pray,
May life find a way
To return your heart carefully,
It has been generous for so long.
 

[Truthbetold]

There’s a kind of beauty
that doesn’t announce itself—
it lingers in slow mornings,
in softened edges,
in spaces where nothing is being performed.

No preparation,
no intention—
morning light not yet decided,
fabric loose,
hair still remembering sleep,
just you,
in the quiet shape of the dawn,
carrying light like it belongs to you.
Not dressed for anything,
not reaching for attention,
just present.

In these unguarded hours—
I notice it most:
how effortlessly you stand out
Without trying to.
 

[Truthbetold]

Memories can fade at the edges
But time with her never learned how.

A familiar nearness, the quiet gravity of two people 
Sharing the same small corner of the world.
Nothing remarkable happening
Only time loosening its grip.

Stories wandering where they pleased, silences arriving without needing explanation, the simple comfort of being together
How easily we existed there.

An intimacy built from presence
From unhurried hours, from trust

From the quiet certainty that being near each other was enough.

Even now, those moments are with me Like a place I can no longer visit
But somehow still belong to.

And every time they return, whether in memory or in life
They arrive with the same small wonder— as though my heart, despite knowing the way
Discovers home for the very first time.

[Truthbetold]

Sometimes, even in the middle of a moment, I feel its future absence.

The knowledge that this, too, will become a memory.

All the more, I hold it more carefully.

[Truthbetold]

Some people chase their dreams by outrunning everything else.
You do it differently.
You carry your ambitions in one hand and your kindness in the other, 
Refusing to set either one down.

The journey has asked much of you, 
But you remain unmistakably yourself.
That fills me with a strange certainty, 
The kind that needs neither proof nor promise,
Only faith.

So, from near or far, I am always rooting for you —
Like one awaiting eagerly for sunrise, 
Already knowing the light is on its way.
 

[Anonymous]

You keep your eyes on distant things —
Stars not yet within reach, futures waiting beyond the edge of sight.

Somehow, despite all that life places in your path,
You continue toward them with the same gentle heart.
 

You are quietly extraordinary —
How the world places weight in your hands,
And you find room for kindness.
How difficulties arrive and leave, 
Without taking the parts of you that matter most.
The quiet refusal to let difficulty decide who you become.

I find myself thinking ahead for you— beyond today's burdens, beyond tomorrow's uncertainties.
In those moments, my hopes feel less like wishes and more like prayers.
That the things you're reaching for are already making their way toward you.
And that when they finally arrive, they find you exactly as you are