While singing the blessing song,
her hand pointed in my direction.
I wanted to believe
the blessing was meant for me.
And somehow…
that felt good.
⸻
Description
A quiet, fleeting moment during worship—
a hand lifted in blessing,
a heart reaching for more than shared liturgy.
This poem captures a tender arche:
the delicate origin of silent affection,
held within the sacred stillness of church.
A gesture, a hope,
and a longing that began where no words were spoken.
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