Dear Maxine

You are the quiet guest who sits at my table long before the meal is served.
I look at the empty chair across from me and see the ghost of a girl with messy hair and knees stained by the earth.
A person made of stardust and the best parts of a story I am still writing.
I imagine the day you finally arrive, when the air in the room will change and grow heavy with the scent of new life.
I will hold you and marvel at how something so small can carry the weight of all my prayers.
I will count your fingers like precious coins and wonder which of my flaws you will turn into strengths.
In my mind, I see us walking through a field when the afternoon sun turns everything to gold.
You will point at a butterfly and I will realize that I have spent my whole life walking toward that specific moment.
I am collecting pieces of wisdom now, tucking them away like dried flowers so I can give them to you when you ask why the moon follows the car or why the rain has to fall.
I am learning how to be patient, how to be kind and how to be a mountain that does not crumble when the winds are high.
I am doing this for you. I want to be a father who is a soft place to land and a steady hand to hold.
You are not a person yet, only a name that tastes like honey on my tongue but you are already the reason I try to be a better man.
I am preparing the soil of my heart, pulling out the weeds of old shadows, making sure that when you finally bloom you have everything you need to reach for the sun.
​I hope that one day, when the world has made you tall, you find these words.
I hope you sit quietly and read them and feel the ghost of the man I am today reaching out to you.
I want you to look back and realize that before you even took your first breath, you were loved with a depth that has no bottom.
So wait for me in the place where dreams are kept.
I am busy folding the laundry of my days, working and learning the rhythm of the world so I can be ready to welcome you home.

Reviews

[Elshaddai]

Maestro Maxwell

Finally thine understand thee a metaphor, the pen is mightier than the sword.
For thy words pierce thine soul, where in thee a past i stood confounded.
Thy words has slain all love's mysteries and in place begot chivalry .
You oh Sir Maxwell be appointment Knight, crowned in the halls or artistry.

By Elsha
04/04/2026